Hardly a Love Story
by InsanityInReverse
Summary: Matthew didn't realize he had been delivering pizzas to the same person for weeks until Gilbert answered the door with his confession of undying love: "I love you, can I f- you? Please?" Matthew didn't realize this creep was the love of his life until much later, but this was not the work of fate. This was the work of Gilbert memorizing Matthew's schedule. [PruCan, SEVERE CRACK]
1. Confessions from a Lunatic

**A/N **;; Craaaaack! So much crack! I love it!

So, welcome to **Hardly a Love Story**! This is a story my friend and I came up with during our last ideas exchange, and decided that we immediately needed to write it. This is the first time I've ever written with a (kind of) co-author – and I say _kind of _because she isn't doing any writing. Anyway, I wrote this piece in a little under an hour and it has been looked through very quickly, so if there are any glaring errors, do tell me. I'll work through this chapter again later, when I don't have _a certain someone _looking over my shoulder at everything I'm doing.

* * *

**Hardly a Love Story**

**…o…**

**Chapter One  
_Confessions from a Lunatic_  
**

**…o…**

* * *

When Matthew knocked on the almost familiar apartment door for the third time that week, pizzas in hand, he had no idea that the love of his life was waiting on the other side.

The love of his life, on the other hand, knew the love of _his _life was waiting on the other side. Matthew had delivered pizzas to Gilbert's apartment several times before. In fact, he had delivered a pizza to Gilbert's apartment every day he had worked for the past two weeks.

This wasn't fate or destiny at work. This was because Gilbert had memorized the work schedule of 'the cute pizza boy' and also because he could also afford the heinous delivery charges.

* * *

And tonight, Gilbert would profess his undying devotion – mainly because his refrigerator was running out of the room for the leftovers and he didn't want to buy another one.

It would have probably have helped his cause to build up a repertoire with Matthew that included topics of conversation other than confirmation of his order and monetary exchanges. To begin with, an exchange of names would have been useful.

But Gilbert had meticulously prepared for this moment. About five minutes prior to the predicted time Matthew would arrive, he had scribbled 'Love u, bang me' on a nearby napkin. 'Please?' had been mentally amended a few moments later, if only for a measure of common courtesy.

* * *

"I love you. Can I fuck you… please?" was Gilbert's speech verbatim. Preparation had been key to his successful delivery.

"That will be $12.50," was Matthew's rather bored-sounding response. He was accustomed to filtering out the deranged driveling of the customers.

"Oh no, you're worth so much than that…"

* * *

Matthew's boss had not been very pleased to find $12.50 worth of cash missing from the cash register when he finished up the books later that night.

* * *

Gilbert supposed he didn't have room in his fridge for the medium meat lover's pizza with a side order of cinnamon sticks, anyway. He did have room for a shirtless delivery boy dribbling hot icing down his chin and onto his chest while he did unmentionable things to a very phallic, spiced bread item, however.

* * *

Gilbert skipped ordering pizzas the next evening, opting for three orders of cinnamon sticks and a side order of breadsticks for good measure.

"I love you. Can I fuck you… please?"

"That will be $10.08."

"Do you like cinnamon sticks?"

"No."

At least this time Gilbert did not end up with cheese and tomato sauce smashed into his hair and Matthew didn't have to end up paying off his debts using his tip money again.

* * *

Matthew still didn't know that the love of his life was on the other side of Door 54C, but he was beginning to recognize a pattern in the door's appearance.

That pattern being is that it appeared daily.

* * *

"I love you. Can I fuck you–?"

"Did you order the small mushroom pizza?"

"–pleeeeeease?"

* * *

At this point, Matthew began to realize that, along with Door 54C, a certain psychotically horny man was also an unpleasant repetition during his work week.

* * *

"I love you. Can I fuck you? Please?"

"That will be $15.30."

If the lunatic didn't tip so damn well – an act that Gilbert hoped symbolized his pure-hearted devotion to the delivery boy; it reminded Matthew of bribery-bordering-on-prostitution more than he was comfortable with, but fuck, he needed the cash – Matthew would have reported the pale-haired creep long ago.

* * *

"I love you. Can I fuck you? Please?"

"One order of cheesy bread?"

Gilbert nodded, and before he had a chance to open his mouth, Matthew shoved the bag of bread into his arms.

"That will be $3.69."

"That's an awesome place to start." He winked. "Why argue over who penetrates who at this point in our relationship?"

Matthew was not a blushing virgin, but at that point, he certainly looked like it.

"I'd show you an awesome time," Gilbert purred, leaning closer to Matthew as the delivery boy took three very large steps back.

Gilbert wished he could make the delivery boy blush in an entirely naughtier manner.

* * *

"I love you. Can I please fuck you?"

"Do you even know my name?" Matthew asked, and wasn't entirely sure whether a response of 'yes' or 'no' would be more disconcerting in this instance.

"These emotions run too deep for superficial things like _names_ to matter."

Matthew narrowed his eyes slightly; this creep was starting to sound an awful lot like Francis. "You owe me $12.50," he said instead.

Matthew's tip was well over 50% that evening. He wondered vaguely as he shoved the bills into his back jean pocket what job the red-eyed freak had to be able to spend so excessively and indiscriminately.

Gilbert would think of his actions as being anything but indiscriminate, if his only thoughts were not otherwise engaged with how much he would prefer it if it was his hand slipping into those jeans.

* * *

Gilbert began paying for his meals with a credit card. Matthew only realized, after the fifth night of this change in their routine, that it was so Gilbert could surreptitiously jot down his phone number while signing the receipt.

**Call me ;)**

**I love you**

**We'd be awesome together!**

…were about how much Gilbert could write without seeming to take a suspiciously long time.

Matthew wasn't sure why the guy insisted upon this façade of stealth when he had been rather direct when hitting on Matthew previously. He had already been asking to fuck Matthew a consistent five times a week for the past two months.

* * *

"I love you. Can I fuck you?"

Gilbert, who at this point had begun to contemplate the possibility of unrequited love, felt that pleasantries were no longer require in such desperate circumstances.

"I'm really not gay, you know," was Matthew's insincere reply, but there was no need to encourage the creep.

* * *

"My name is Gilbert, what's yours?"

If Matthew had known labeling himself as a heterosexual would have caused this 'Gilbert' to take up a more normal line of inquiry, he would have claimed he was straight from the very start of this… whatever it was.

Gilbert would have considered 'this' to be courtship, but he also considered a complete stranger – that is, _his _delivery boy – to be everything he needed in someone… and more as a someone he needed to be _in._

"Matt. Sign here."

"Short for Matthew?"

Matthew nodded in confirmation. "Here's your receipt."

* * *

"Andy?"

"Who?"

"What about Andy?"

"What about him?"

"Not him, you."

"Come again?"

"Haven't come at all yet, would you like to fix that?"

Matthew's mouth opened and closed silently for a few moments, not sure exactly how the conversation had arrived at this point, but he had been lost since his most embarrassingly devout customer had answered the door.

"Do you mind if I call you Mattie?"

"Yes." Only his brother called him 'Mattie,' and that was bad enough already.

"Okay… What about Birdie?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I can call you Birdie?" Gilbert's voice had picked up in excitement.

"No, you can't," Matthew corrected.

"Why did you say 'yeah,' then?"

"Jailbird?"

"What? No! That doesn't make any sense."

"What about–"

"Look!" Matthew interrupted, almost losing his grip on Gilbert's food as he threw one of his arms up in the air. "It's Matthew or Matt, not anything else. Alright?"

* * *

Matthew picked up the boxes off the counter, sliding them into the hotbox. Grabbing the list of addresses, his eyes automatically trained onto the '54C' that he had known would appear at some point during the evening.

* * *

Matthew had recently began to wonder how the older man ate so much pizza. It should have been physically impossible. Mostly, he wondered how the man ate so much and still managed to remain as fit as he did. It wasn't as though Matthew had sought out the sight of the man's physique when he showed up at the door, hair tousled, in low slung boxer shorts, leaning on the arm raised to rest on the doorframe, which made his shirt ride up…

Matthew wasn't sure why the man was so insistent upon asking someone so utterly unremarkable as him for a night in bed, either, when the guy always looked so thoroughly fucked when he answered the door.

Could he be jacking off?

Matthew's cheeks flushed in complete horror. Actually, it was ninety-five percent horror, and five percent embarrassment, but those were only the details.

He dearly hoped that his mentally impaired customer did not consume all the pizza he ordered, because it would only confirm his suspicions that the freak couldn't be entirely human.

* * *

"Despite having tomato sauce, pizzas won't actually fulfill your daily nutritional needs," Matthew said as soon as the door to 54C opened, before Gilbert even had a chance to greet him.

Gilbert smirked. "Concerned for my well-being? Falling madly in love with me?"

"Just saying that maybe you should cut back on the pizzas," Matthew replied, holding out the food he had brought for the older man. "Maybe you should have a salad. A fruit salad would be even better."

The older man cocked an eyebrow, looking almost genuinely concerned. "But then how would I see you?"

Matthew smiled sweetly. "That's the point. You wouldn't. Now, sign here."

* * *

"It's not as though I eat it all, you know," Gilbert said the next night as he opened the door and saw his usual delivery boy standing there.

"Then you probably have a lifetime supply of leftovers," Matthew said thoughtfully.

"Nah, not enough room in the fridge."

"Ah, of course."

They were silent for a moment, before Gilbert asked, "Don't you want to know what I do with it all? It's awesome."

"Not really, no," Matthew replied truthfully.

* * *

"Fine, okay, so what do you do with it?"

"With what?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow as he took the pizzas from Matthew's hands, setting them aside.

"The extra pizza," Matthew clarified. "What do you do with them?"

Gilbert grinned. "Spent all night and day thinking about me, have you?"

"About what a creep you are, sure."

Gilbert fist-pumped victoriously. "So you were!" he exclaimed.

Matthew rolled his eyes and grimaced. "You done?" he asked.

"I–"

"If you make one comment about anything remotely sexual–"

"What? You'll spank me?"

Matthew bristled. "I said–"

"I meant nothing perverse by it. You have suuuuch a _dirty _mind, Mattie."

Yes, Matthew's shiver was definitely caused by having his ear tickled by the husky whispering of his insane customer. Gilbert dearly hoped it was because he was succeeding in seducing a straight man. Matthew dearly hoped it was in disgust because this guy was a real sleazy creep.

"Just sign the receipt," he muttered.

Matthew hadn't been previously aware that he had begun to neglect customer-employee protocol, but he was pretty sure calling a customer a creep and slamming an open pizza onto their head was generally frowned upon in customer service.

* * *

**A/N **;; Did I not say it was crack? Did I not say? Man, I've kind of always wanted to write a sleazebag!Prussia and a frustrated!sarcastic!Canada. Well, here's my chance! If you guys aren't into this story, I would totally understand. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but whatever, I think this is going to be a lot of fun for me.

This was originally created in the format of a one-shot. Can you guys tell? This is going to be the style of writing for this story.

But if you happened to like this story, why not **drop a review**?


	2. Discussions of Love and Human Mortality

**A/N **;; Alright, guys, welcome to chapter two of **Hardly a Love Story**! I was rather amazed by the response the previous chapter got. I didn't know so many of you guys enjoyed crack as much as I did. I'm glad that I made some of you laugh! :D

There's a bit of Spain/Prussia in this chapter. Just a notice ahead of time.

In fact, I was so excited by the responses that I decided the upload the second chapter early! I hope you guys all enjoy this one as much as you did the first!

* * *

**Hardly a Love Story**

**…o…**

**Chapter Two  
**_**Discussions of Love and Human Mortality**_

**…o…**

* * *

"You never did tell me what you did with the pizza," was Matthew's opening line as Gilbert opened the door to his apartment, looking just as ruffled as usual, hair sticking up in all directions. His red eyes blinked blearily, not quite focused on the delivery boy in front of him. There was no smirk or a welcoming, perverse grin on his face – he only sported a little frown, yawning widely as one of his hands rose to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. He looked as though Matthew's arrival had awoken him from a deep sleep.

It took a sharp "Hey!" from Matthew and a hard slam of the delivery boy's sneaker down to Gilbert's bare foot to jolt the pale-haired man into wakefulness. He jumped slightly, blinking rapidly, and only a moment passed before that familiar grin slid onto his face, one of his eyebrows hiking up to his hairline. "I didn't?" he asked, his voice still very obviously dampened by sleep. Another yawn accompanied the question.

"No, you didn't," Matthew replied, passing off Gilbert's food, watching as the man took the stack of boxes with one hand and placed them behind him, all without shifting from his position against the doorframe. It was a rather impressive stunt from someone who had come to the door looking as though he had less coordination skills than a zombie did.

It took Gilbert's addled mind a moment before it could come up with the proper 'him' answer. "Well," he said after that moment of silence, raising his eyes to meet Matthew's expectant look head-on, "being the charitable person that I am, I wrap up all the extra food and take it 'round to the homeless shelter down the street. It goes to a good cause, y'know?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "That's such bullshit."

Gilbert laughed, resisting the urge to pinch Matthew's cheeks. The boy looked utterly adorable, even when he wasn't trying to be. "Oh, you know me too well, Mattie," he cooed.

Matthew bristled, frowning at the older man in front of him. "Don't call me 'Mattie,' you hoser. I already told you that you couldn't call me by anything but my name. And I really don't know you at all," he corrected. "Besides your name, I don't know anything about you – like your age, your job, your level of mental stability. You know… basic things like that? You could be a murderer, or a rapist, for all I know. Hell, you could be both!"

"I don't think knowing my occupation would alleviate your fears," Gilbert drawled, shrugging off Matthew's words as if they were but a mere speck of dust on his shoulder. He probably should have been more insulted to be called a possible murderer and/or rapist, but really, he had worse things from worse people before. "Even seemingly boring and docile accountants can turn out to be psychotic serial killers. It's happened before." Gilbert's grin grew larger, showing off his teeth, sharp canines and all, as Matthew's eyes widened slightly. "It's no wonder, too – looking at all those long lists of numbers all day every day – it's enough to drive anyone bonkers, really… Aaaanyway, I'm not actually crazy. My mother had me tested."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Matthew exclaimed, taking a very subtle step away from the doorway.

Gilbert's hadn't really believed it possible for the pizza delivery boy to get any cuter, but his shrill cries of indignant disbelief were just oh so endearing.

"Would you like a note from my psychiatrist?"

And Matthew, on the other hand, wasn't exactly sure why he was getting so worked up over this, though perhaps it was only for the reason of getting a plausible reason to stay as far away from Gilbert as possible. Although it wasn't as if in the past four months or so Gilbert had done anything over disconcerting, besides making lewd comments and poor sexual innuendos, both of which Matthew had become long accustomed to.

Sometimes, it made the Canadian think the man was only teasing him, trying to get a rise and a blush out of the poor little pizza delivery boy. But then he would remember that no one would order so much fucking pizza so religiously for the sake of a practical joke. Then again, the possibility that Gilbert could be so insane as to actually do that was still rather plausible. Matthew wouldn't discount the theory yet.

In reality, there was no reason to worry about Gilbert's sanity. He was about as sane as they came, if only a little more eccentric – or, as Gilbert would put it, more awesome – than other people at times. It wasn't as though he was following Matthew around – though that wasn't to say the thought hadn't crossed his mind once or twice, and that he had honestly considered it – and it wasn't though Matthew himself was actually insane enough to actually contemplate the thought of going inside Gilbert's apartment the next time he offered… just to see if the place was as odd as the man himself.

Except that Matthew, perhaps once, had actually thought about entering Gilbert's lair.

* * *

"I make sidewalk art with it," Gilbert explained the very next day as he opened his door to find Matthew standing there, pizza in hand, as always.

Matthew paused, blinking confusedly. "Excuse me?"

"The leftover pizza," Gilbert clarified, shrugging. "You wanted to know what I did with it all. I make sidewalk art with it."

The Canadian almost couldn't believe the words he was hearing. "…Really?"

The pale-haired man grinned, raising an eyebrow challengingly. "Yes. You say it like you don't believe me."

Matthew's eyes narrowed in thought. What were the chances that Gilbert was completely bullshitting him, again? "…I don't think I do. But I have to see this, I really do." Yes, Matthew really did want to see this supposed 'pizza sidewalk art,' if it existed just as Gilbert claimed it did. It was a morbid curiosity, and he was determined to quench it with whatever means possible, even if that meant stepping into the apartment of the man who had been propositioning him for sex for the last few months.

Gilbert, of course, had been banking on Matthew's curiosity.

"I have pictures," he said as Matthew took his first step inside the apartment, fist pumping behind Matthew's back, smirking manically. This was his chance!

Matthew turned around, and Gilbert's hand flew back down to his side. The Canadian looked a little disappointed about the prospect of only seeing photographs compared to the real thing. "Only pictures?" he asked.

"Well, my art is very ephermeral in nature."

_Does he have any idea what that word even __**means**__? _Matthew thought bemusedly, but for once, kept his true thoughts silent around the man. Instead, he asked, "Some sort of post-modernist statement about our mortality of humans?" and inwardly smiled at the slight look of confusion that crossed Gilbert's face.

"Ah… no, not really. The owner of this building sends someone out to clean it up. I think the old fart down in 23D always calls in a complaint. He totally isn't awesome, unlike me."

Matthew tsked, shaking his head slowly. "He has no appreciation for the arts, clearly."

"None at all," Gilbert was quick to agree.

A near unbearably awkward silence descended over the two residents of the apartment, and Matthew cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling the weight of the silence beginning to close in on him. "Anyways," he muttered, "here's your pizza. I've got other deliveries to get you. You know, 'Fresh pizza delivered straight to your door in thirty minutes or less' is the policy of our company."

Gilbert snorted. "Yeah, you did a great job, kid. It took you forty-five minutes to get here."

Matthew shrugged unapologetically. "Yes, well, it's not exactly necessary. It's more of a _goal_, really." He turned around and started to head back to the door of the apartment.

"I'll show you the pictures another time, then?" Gilbert called after him, holding the pizzas against his ribs with one hand, the other propped up on his hip.

Matthew threw him a look over his shoulder, a little, amused smile crossing his face as his eyes caught Gilbert's pose. "Oh, yeah, of course. See you tomorrow, I'm sure."

Now, Gilbert knew why his pulse began to race when he thought of ripping that dumbass, polo shirt uniform straight off the younger man's body, revealing the lithe and lean body beneath it. He knew why he could feel himself grinning as he thought of those too blue eyes clouded with lust, begging Gilbert to ravish him. He was madly in love with the delivery boy, after all, and had been for several months now. He could understand that much.

But what Gilbert didn't understand, however, was why seeing Matthew waving a hand at him over his shoulder as he walked down the hallway, with a promise to see him the very next day, was making the heat rush towards his face. He didn't understand why he felt flustered to the point of lowering his eyes to the ground, making him kick at the worn out carpet beneath his feet.

"Well, shit."

* * *

"I love you, wanna fuck?" Of course, when confused about something, it was always best to fall back on old habits, as his… Well, no one had ever really told him that. He was following his own advice. He had stopped listening to other peoples' advice a long time ago, anyway.

Matthew grimaced. "I had hoped that you had given up on that."

Gilbert struck his usual pose against the door, letting the familiar smirk spread across his face. Everything was familiar; the actions were as simple as clockwork. He hardly had to think about them anymore. "Love knows no bounds, my dear Matthew. I've decided that your sexual orientation will not deter me from my quest. Have you even stopped to consider the possibility that you might enjoy a bit of cock now and then?"

Of course, Matthew had not only considered the possibility; he _had _enjoyed the pleasures of the male anatomy several times before.

But Gilbert, his creepy stalker, didn't necessarily have to know that.

Except, in reality, Gilbert didn't do much stalking other than asking for a fuck nearly every time Matthew showed up at his door. Matthew had just assumed the guy just ordered pizza every single day and hit on whatever pizza boy that appeared. He would feel bad for the other pizza boy who worked at his company, except that he was jealous that his fellow delivery boy only had to deal with the seductive loony twice a week, opposed to Matthew's solid five.

What a lucky bastard.

Matthew, however, was mistaken about Gilbert's pizza ordering habits. Gilbert, in fact, only ordered pizzas on the days that Matthew worked. Most of the other delivery boys were pimple-ridden, scrawny teenagers and were as much of a pervert as Gilbert was. And, to put it in simple terms, Gilbert wasn't into pubescent little twerps, thank you very much.

He was into _Matthew_, and Matthew _only._

* * *

"And have I told you about the heavenly powers of the prostate?"

So, it was these kinds of lines that were the highlight of his evenings nowadays. This wasn't exactly the kind of job experience he had imagined having when applying to be a pizza delivery boy. Matthew hadn't really expected anything at all, really – but then again, there he was, standing in front of Gilbert's door for what was probably the hundredth time within the last five or so months, and he couldn't say he had expected anything less from the red-eyed man.

At this point, the comments were almost commonplace, but Matthew wouldn't deny that Gilbert _could _be quite creative with his… pick-up lines.

Matthew could already tell that this conversation was just going to decline further. There was really no use in trying to diffuse it when he knew Gilbert was already planning to take this further. Why had he even bothered thinking he could discourage this kind of behavior from Gilbert in the first place?

So, instead of handing Gilbert his food and demanding his money, Matthew said, "I don't recall you mentioning it, no."

Gilbert grinned widely. "Well, if you let me–"

That, at least, he could nip at the bud. "I already understand such practices, thank you," Matthew interrupted smoothly.

"Then, can I fuck you, please?" Gilbert asked hopefully.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Just take your damn pizza, you stupid hoser."

What a routine they had.

* * *

Gilbert had thought that perhaps when he stopped paying so much extra tip money, Matthew would suddenly stop showing up at his doorstep nearly every night. The kid had offhandedly mentioned once that he only put up with Gilbert because of the extra money he got out of it.

But, the delivery boy kept coming, even on the evenings where Gilbert hadn't even bothered to pay a full fifteen percent tip.

And if that wasn't love, Gilbert didn't know what was.

What Gilbert didn't know was that it wasn't love, actually. It was actually because Matthew had gotten so used to being paid in excess, he had stopped counting the amount of extra cash he was given as a tip.

* * *

"You know, you can top, if you want. I'm flexible that way… amongst others…" Gilbert grinned stupidly as Matthew grimaced. Of course, Gilbert didn't actually want to give up his position, but if it got Matthew to enter his apartment, he could pretend he would let the Canadian top him for the time being. That wouldn't continue for long, though. Their positions had been set the moment Gilbert decided he wanted the boy, and he was determined to keep them that way.

"I told you I was straight," Matthew said tiredly, yawning widely. He raised a hand to cover his mouth, blinking quickly to keep his focus clear. It had been a long night, this was the last place on his list of addresses, and all he wanted to do was collapse on a bed and sleep.

Gilbert shrugged. "Yeah, but so is spaghetti before you cook it."

* * *

When Matthew knocked on the apartment door of 54C, he did not expect to find a disconcerting hot older man, clad in only boxer shorts, stretched up languidly in the doorframe.

Actually, he expected this every time he knocked on this particular apartment door, but this was a different, scantily-clad, thoroughly-sexed, older male standing in the doorway this time. This time, he was not greeted with snow-white skin and smirking red eyes. No, it was sun-kissed skin, bright green eyes, and a mop of curly brown hair that welcomed Matthew tonight.

"…Who?" Matthew muttered under his breath.

"Oh, I'm a friend of the man who lives here!" the tanned man answered cheerfully, apparently hearing Matthew's confusion despite the Canadian's attempts to stay quiet. "You must be surprised to see me, huh? Gil orders a lot of pizza. But what does he do with all the extra…?"

The question was muttered under the man's breath, and Matthew felt as though he could satisfy the man's curiosity. He had felt that way, as well, earlier in the month. "Um, he makes… sidewalk art with it…" Matthew answered slowly, not noticing the way the man's eyebrow shot up. He was too busy trying to subtly look around the green-eyed man standing in the doorway to Gilbert's apartment. From what he could see – which wasn't a lot – Gilbert was nowhere in sight, strangely enough. "Is Gilbert okay?" Matthew asked.

The Canadian had assumed, since Gilbert had ordered pizza religiously for well over five months at this point, that:

A) Gilbert had no life.

B) Gilbert was clearly mentally deranged.

C) Gilbert was a creep, and,

D) Nothing short of death or mortal wounds would keep Gilbert from calling in an order.

It was, therefore, quite understandable that Matthew was concerned about Gilbert's wellbeing. He had suspected that a heart attack from all the pizza grease would happen one day. He just hadn't predicted that it would happen so soon. He hadn't even seen those pictures yet.

"Do you know Gilbert?" the tanned man asked curiously.

Matthew had also subconsciously assumed that:

E) Maybe Gilbert, in his own fucked up and delusional way, really, actually, thought he was in love with Matthew.

Matthew's eyes lowered to the ugly hallway carpet below his worn sneakers. "No," he answered after a moment. "I don't know him at all. I'm just his delivery boy… That will be $4.25, by the way."

Gilbert, in fact, was not dead, nor was he seriously injured, though his ass ached something fierce.

He was quite alright, actually. He felt rather sated and had been taking a shower after being taken senselessly by Antonio, his friend/fuck buddy, after losing a bet that took away his top position for the night.

Gilbert was not in love with Antonio – not at all. He loved Matthew, but that didn't mean he had to sit around with only his hands for company because the man he loved hadn't yet figured out that he liked dicks and flat chests. What Gilbert had done with Antonio was just… release, because as much as Gilbert loved his pizza delivery boy, there was only so long he could go without sex. He had fallen in love with Matthew before he even knew the blond kid's name. He still didn't know Matthew's full name, for that matter.

Matthew, meanwhile, thought Gilbert's ideas about love were, in simple terms–

* * *

"–complete and utter bollocks!" Oh, _God, _he was channeling his inner Arthur! Make it stop!

"I don't know why you're so upset," Gilbert said casually, raising a pale eyebrow at the ruffled Canadian in front of him.

"Because you have no fucking clue what love even means!" Mathew exclaimed. It was also because someone who was supposed 'devoted' to him had gone and fucked another man, but that was beside the point. It wasn't as though Matthew necessarily wanted the creep to be devoted to him exclusively. He really didn't, but… "It's the principle of the thing that matters, really!"

"I _do _know what love is," Gilbert protested stubbornly. "I love you. Toni was just a quickie, that's all! He's only my friend!"

"All you want is a quickie with me," Matthew pointed out.

And really, the only reason he was arguing was because he was trying to point out the irrationality of Gilbert's thought processes.

However, Matthew subconscious was singing a completely different song, surfing a completely different wavelength than his conscious mind was, one which was actually a rather brilliant shade of bright green.

"No, I want to have you over and over again over an extended period of time. And on the occasions I'm not with you, I'd like to stare at your ass."

"That is _not _love!" Matthew spluttered.

Gilbert did not respond immediately, taking a moment and pausing in his thoughts. His mind had begun to achieve synchronization with Matthew's subconscious. His thoughts had caught the same emerald wave that was pushing closer and closer into Matthew's conscious, and Gilbert let a sly smirk spread across his face, knowing that yes, he had won. Tonight, his months of hard work would pay off.

"You're jealous!" he exclaimed excitedly, keeping his victory dance inside for the moment. He could dance all he wanted when he had the boy in his bed, eyes clouded with lust, enjoying all there was to savour about the pizza delivery boy in front of him. It seemed he was well on his way to that scenario, anyway, if things kept on going the way they were.

Matthew pulled back as though he were visibly disgusted with the prospect. "Like hell I am, you creep!"

"You like me!" Gilbert crowed victoriously. "You're jealous that it wasn't you in bed with me!"

"No, I'm not jealous," Matthew insisted calmly in lieu of Gilbert's extremely loud, obnoxious voice. He was surprised that none of Gilbert's neighbours had made an appearance yet, screeching at the red-eyed man to shut up and let them sleep. It had happened before, after all, when Gilbert had gotten just a little too excited during one of their brief conversations. "I'm only attempting to point out that your definition of love is totally crazy," he said. "I'm really not jealous." It felt as though he was repeating himself over and over again with fruitless results. "I could care less who you sleep with."

Gilbert completely ignored him. He could see that Matthew's mouth was moving, but he could hardly hear a word that was coming out of it. "…Love aside, you're still jealous of Toni; because subconsciously," he tapped the top of his own head, "you know you want me. I've seen the way you stare at me." Gilbert actually _hadn't _noticed any particularly weird looks Matthew had been sending him in the past few months, but the lady across the hall from him had assured him that the Canadian tended to stare at him in a way that was not entirely innocent. He was going off of her word exclusively, and hoping to God that she was correct about her little theory.

It was hard not to stare at a half-naked man with a toned stomach. Matthew wouldn't try to deny that. Yes, he had definitely looked a moment too long on several occasions. He would admit to that much.

However, instead of admitting to his staring, Matthew said, "Oh my fucking God. You're so incredibly narcissistic. I almost can't believe it." It probably wasn't the best thing to say, but oh fuck, he had already said it, and so he couldn't really well take the words back, now could he?

"Narcissistic?" Gilbert repeated the word as if he had never had anyone call him it in his entire life – and Matthew was sure that someone somewhere had called Gilbert out of this. At least he hoped so.

"Yes!" Matthew exclaimed. "Vain, egotistical, conceited, you have a big fucking head!"

"Why am I egotistical?" Gilbert asked.

"_Why_?"

Matthew vaguely knew, at the very back of his mind, that as soon as Gilbert stepped outside his apartment door and into the hallway, he was in deep shit.

Gilbert, on the other hand, didn't know much of anything except that he really, really loved the kid with his glasses that were almost too big for his face, baseball cap, and ugly red polo shirt. He was cute and delectable and Gilbert knew from the very moment he saw the kid that he wanted him. Even though the poor boy had no sex appeal to work for his advantage, he had looked so goddamn ravishing when Gilbert had opened the door the very first time to Matthew's impatient and bored pout.

It had been months, and even fucking Antonio or any other one-night-stand did not make not having Matthew any better on his heart. Gilbert had thought that he and the pizza boy would have been rutting against each other the second he confessed his love all those months ago.

…Okay, so _realistically_, he had thought ten minutes, at the very most. How could anyone, much less Matthew, resist his awesomeness? Antonio and every other person he had taken to his bed in the last few months had fallen for it rather quickly. He practically radiated it.

So, it was understandable that to Gilbert, the situation was quite frustrating.

"Yes," he ground out. "How, _exactly_, am I egotistical?"

"You're so full of yourself that you think you can get a straight man to sleep with you!"

"Really, kid?" Gilbert said lowly. "I don't think you're quite as straight as you say you are."

And that, though Gilbert hadn't come to an ultimate answer yet, was definitely and completely true.

Gilbert knew this was probably a bad idea, using the pizza box to pin the delivery boy against the ugly wallpapered walls of his apartment building while he hissed in frustration at him. But, in his defense, he hadn't touched the kid _once _in all the months of knowing him and it was driving him _insane. _He wasn't a fucking saint!

"Alright!" Matthew exclaimed finally, trying to shrink himself further into the wall. He swallowed quickly, pushing down any resignations he had to admitting his façade. He was tired of keeping up this act. "I'm not straight! But it wasn't like I was going to tell a creep like you that I– nnnhm! Shit, dude! You idiot!"

"Oww…" Gilbert muttered under his breath as he pulled away, turning his eyes away from Matthew's wide-eyed expression of utter shock. The boy was supposed to melt in his arms and let himself be swooped away into Gilbert's apartment, not look like the red-eyed man was pointing a gun in his face.

"You… Was that…" Matthew trailed off uselessly, head spinning. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. _"Did you just kiss me?"_

To be honest, he couldn't exactly tell whether Gilbert had wanted to kiss him or tear him to shreds – with his teeth.

"…um, yes?"

Gilbert himself wasn't sure whether or not he had been trying to kiss the kid, or just get him to shut the fuck up. Certainly, the general vicinity of lips had touched the general vicinity of lips, but this could have been easily filed under the 'creative attack and disarmament methods' in some military handbook. He bet he could find something like that somewhere.

"That… that wasn't very good," Matthew muttered.

It had been, in fact, utter shit.

"…I get that, kid."

"It kind of hurt, actually…"

Matthew's head had been very roughly slammed back into the ugly wall. The possibility of him getting a concussion from the force of the blow was quite a feasible possibility.

"Sorry," Gilbert said sheepishly. "I got a bit carried away."

Gilbert, with the shock of finally being able to touch Matthew over with, was feeling rather ashamed of his sorry excuse for a kiss. Matthew might have felt properly sympathetic for the prick if he hadn't been on the receiving end of said kiss.

_You think? Only a little bit carried away? _Matthew thought irritably, but instead said, "Oh, no worries. It's fine." He somehow resisted the urge to flip Gilbert around and slam _his _head into the wall. "People like a bit of enthusiasm."

Gilbert perked up rather quickly. "Really?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, definitely. My vision went black from the sheer force of it, if that makes you feel any better."

A blow to the back of the head could do that sort of damage, yes.

"That's good, then, yeah?"

"Sure it is, Gilbert."

It wasn't, of course.

"Soooo…" Gilbert scuffed his bare foot on the carpet. "You're gay, huh?"

Matthew nodded, but didn't bother to say a word otherwise.

"Is this a new realization, or…?"

"Ah… no, not really," Matthew answered honestly. "I've known for years, but you don't really tell creepy old men in apartment buildings that you swing their way when they keep asking for a quick fuck."

"That hurts."

"Sorry, but you do give off that vibe."

Gilbert shook his head, grimacing. "No, I meant the pizza box. I think my stomach is bruising."

Matthew didn't need to say, "Well, what the hell do you want me to do about it, you idiot? You're the one pinning me to the wall with the damn thing." Gilbert understood just fine from his look of sheer incredulity.

"Oh, right," he muttered. "Sorry."

Gilbert had imagined his first kiss with Matthew to be so much better than it had been. There would have been a lot more tongue, a lot less teeth, more friction, and less clothing. The image of roses in full bloom sprouting from their nostrils and fireworks shooting out their asses was an equally plausible fantasy, of course.

Matthew looked as though he was imagining neither of those fantasies, and was instead wishing he could damn Gilbert to the deepest part of hell. That, or he had eaten something incredibly bitter, but Gilbert figured it had something to do with him. Matthew shoved the pizza towards his least favourite customer, nearly knocking him in the face with it, adjusted his hat, and walked in the opposite direction down the hallway.

He didn't look back this time, and Gilbert was left to stare at the love of his life as he once again disappeared from his life, now cold pizza in his hands.

Thankfully, Matthew would be back tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N **;; Oh, how silly, Canada! Prussia can't be a rapist! That's France's job! -bricked-

Okay, I deserve that. There's no denying that. Please don't think of me of one of those Hetalia fans who think of France as a rapist and Spain as a pedophile. I'm not one of those people – _I swear. _

Once again, thanks to all my reviewers! You guys are so awesome – like Prussian awesome!

Stay awesome, guys.


	3. The Pinnacle of Pointless Pleasantries

**A/N **;; You guys are all so amazing. Like, seriously, every one of you is so supportive towards this story, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I think of your guys' reviews. You make me the happiest authoress.

I haven't read this through very well yet, but I will when I have the chance.

* * *

**Hardly a Love Story**

**…o…**

**Chapter Three  
**_**The Pinnacle of Pointless Pleasantries **_

**…o…**

* * *

Gilbert had decided that, all things considered, Matthew's response to his advances had been rather encouraging, in a certain way. He hadn't been punched, at least – he supposed Matthew had had enough consideration to not bruise his awesome face; he'd had a feeling the Canadian was a smart kid, and that just proved that, of course, he hadn't been wrong – nor had he necessarily been screamed and spat at – not that Matthew screaming at him had been necessary; his glare had told him exactly what the boy was feeling, but at least Matthew hadn't abused him _verbally. _So, yes, Gilbert considered that Matthew's response was quite supportive of his final goal, if Gilbert himself had anything to say about it.

Matthew, meanwhile, knew he shouldn't be encouraging the freak after such a poor excuse for a kiss by showing up at his apartment once again. The last thing he wanted to do was to give Gilbert a chance to kiss him again. He had considered bribing his fellow pizza boy to take Gilbert's deliveries from then on, just so he could avoid the freak as much as possible, but really, Matthew knew he had no choice in the matter. He could have just stopped delivering pizzas to Gilbert altogether, but he wouldn't put it past the man to call his manager and complain.

He could quit his job…

And then he wouldn't have any income, so that was out of the question, too.

But he would be able to avoid Gilbert…

What a difficult decision.

Honestly, it was something that he would have to think about. At this point, kissing Gilbert was very low on the list of things he wanted. He still had a lingering headache that refused to leave him from having his head _slammed against the wall_, and his lips still felt uncomfortably swollen and sore, not to mention they fucking _tingled _when the thought of the kiss managed to slip past his mental guards. He had also been interrogated by his brother and Arthur the very minute he arrived home as to _why _he looked like absolute shit, and that was never fun.

And for the first time, Matthew truly regretted giving the extra key to his apartment to Alfred.

Matthew didn't really like lying to Alfred – it made him feel guilty, and if Alfred ever found out, he knew he would be faced with a 'you shouldn't lie to the hero' speech – but in this case, it was completely necessary. His little brother would, as Alfred would so kindly describe it, hulk smash the living daylights out of Gilbert if he found out about anything that the man had _said _to Matthew, never mind _done. _His brother, if the fancy struck him, could be incredibly and almost scarily protective.

And as lowly as he thought of Gilbert, he didn't want to see the man hurt. That was also pretty low on the list of things Matthew wanted.

In fact, it was down there with being buried alive.

And seeing an old lady naked.

And seeing his brother naked.

And seeing _Arthur _naked.

Matthew shuddered.

All of those things were equally terrifying. There was a multitude of horrific and more torturous things more terrible than feeling Gilbert's lips on his own, Matthew supposed. At least his lips had not given Matthew the urge to rip his own eyes out from his sockets – which was exactly what seeing the elderly, Alfred, or Arthur exposed would have driven the Canadian to do. Unlike saggy, wrinkly breasts, pudgy stomachs, and extremely thick eyebrows – that looked like they were fucking _alive_, but Arthur had assured him many, many times that they weren't – Gilbert's firm, smooth, and thin lips were nice to look at.

They probably would have felt just as nice as they looked, but…

Maybe next time if he grabbed Gilbert's head to hold the overly-enthusiastic freak in place…

Matthew's decision to avoid the man's apartment the very next night turned out to be a fairly good decision. If you could fuck a person's subconscious, Gilbert would have been fucking Matthew's within his ten-minute ETS – Estimated Time until Sex.

* * *

If Matthew had been expecting a reprieve from Gilbert's hell-bent insistence after that disaster of a kiss, he was sorely mistaken.

"Let me kiss you again," Gilbert said in greeting as the door to his apartment swung open, locking eyes with Matthew as soon as the boy's face came into view, going through his routine of striking – what he thought to be, and what Matthew secretly agreed to be – a sexy pose against the door. As per usual, a sly smirk wormed its way onto his face as he not-so-subtly looked Matthew up and down. Of course, his pizza boy looked just as delectable as he always did, bored too blue eyes staring back at Gilbert with just the slightest hints of annoyance already present, his pout just a little bit more pronounced and irritated than it usually was.

"Why?" Matthew demanded irritably, brushing his damp bangs out of his eyes for what felt like the millionth time since he had entered the dry, safe haven of Gilbert's apartment building. It was fucking pouring outside – lighting, thunder, gusting winds, hail, and all, and to top it all off, Matthew hadn't been able to find a proper parking space. He had to find a spot all the way down the street, forcing him to run halfway up the block to reach Gilbert's apartment complex. Did he mention that he'd had to do this in the pouring rain, with no umbrella or any other form of protection? He was soaked as all hell, but at least Gilbert's pizza was moderately dry. He wouldn't want the man complaining of damp pizza, on top of everything else. No, no, that wouldn't do – not at all.

Needless to say, Matthew was beyond annoyed – and rather jealous of his customer's perfectly dry state – and Gilbert was not helping matters.

"I'm a fucking awesome kisser," Gilbert insisted. "You just got me so worked up, I lost my cool. You have that effect on me." Gilbert's grin widened as his eyes travelled over Matthew. The rain had caused his delivery boy's normally shapeless uniform to stick to his body in all the right places, outlining a lean stomach and definitely anything but scrawny arms. Gilbert's grip on the doorframe tightened to an almost painful level, and if his skin had any pigment to begin with, his knuckles would have turned white with the force of his grip. Matthew obviously had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to his body. "Do you often bewitch your customers like this?" he asked cheekily.

"No," Matthew replied shortly, eyes narrowing and frown deepening. He was in no mood to deal with Gilbert's flirtations today – just as much as he was on any other day, this one was no different. However, today his annoyance was multiplied tenfold – by the rain, and the fact that his brother had ditched him during one of Arthur's rants, leaving Matthew alone in the burger shop to listen to the Englishman as he prattled on and on and on about whatever subject he could think of to complain about next. Somehow, the rant had eventually dwindled down to Arthur noticing that Alfred had left some time ago, and he instead began to interrogate Matthew about safe sex and– God, he was going to kill his brother when his shift was over – very, very slowly. Maybe he would drown him in a bucket of that grease his brother enjoyed oh so much. Alfred picked the _oddest _friends, and the absolute worst times to leave Matthew alone with said friends, especially when said friends are older and feel it's his duty to lecture about the safety of some of the more enjoyable aspects of life. Fucking hell. "I don't tend to make a habit of it. Do you often flirt shamelessly with the poor, innocent delivery boy?" he asked scathingly.

"You're the only one for me, babe," Gilbert assured, trying his best to pull a charming grin, placing a pale finger against his lips. He was able to ignore Matthew's tone quite well, reminding himself that at least Matthew felt _some _kind of passion towards him – even if the boy didn't yet know that it was the romantically/sexually frustrated passion and not hatred. "Now come on, why don't you give the awesome me a second chance? I'll make it worth your while," he promised. "I'm sure you aren't as innocent as you say you are."

"I haven't even given you a _first _chance, never mind a second one," Matthew said from behind clenched teeth. He could feel the pizza getting colder in his hands, and his grip tightened on the box, feeling the slightly damp cardboard bend to his will under his fingers. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"I'll never surrender," Gilbert vowed, performing an over-exaggerated bow, tipping off his invisible hat and all.

Despite himself, Matthew let out a little snort, and Gilbert grinned victoriously, standing up straight once again. "I think you've taken the whole 'love is a battlefield' thing a little bit too far," Matthew said slowly, shaking his head in equal amusement and annoyance.

Gilbert hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "The expression never crossed my mind, actually." He shrugged, his grin suddenly shifting into something far more devious. Matthew frowned at the grin instinctively, already not liking the implications it carried. "But," Gilbert continued, "If you want to go commando, I'm all for it."

He winked, and Matthew felt a little part of him die inside.

* * *

"Not even a little peck on the cheek?" Gilbert asked the next night, poking his own cheek repeatedly for emphasis, giving Matthew the best pout and puppy dog eyes he could muster. This kind of thing didn't really work on Ludwig anymore, but maybe Matthew was more susceptible to it. "Just a little one?"

Matthew, however, looked completely unmoved by them, staring down Gilbert with a blank look of apathy. After years of being a victim to his little brother's rather convincing puppy dog eyes, Matthew liked to think he was immune to such tactics. He couldn't – and wouldn't – allowed himself to be swayed so easily. If he had learned to build a resistance to Alfred's eyes, then he shouldn't have a problem ignoring Gilbert's just as well. "No," he answered dryly.

"Why not?" Gilbert's pout deepened, lowering his hand. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stood in the doorway, feet halfway into the hall, toes curling inwards as they felt the coolness of the metal rim around the carpet. He hadn't even bothered to strike his post today, instead choosing to dive right into the eyes. No one could resist him for long – even Ludwig _eventually _gave in to whatever he wanted.

"Because," Matthew said, shrugging off the question dismissively.

His delivery boy wasn't soaking and wet tonight, much to Gilbert's disappointment. He had spent all night preparing a tactic of strategically inviting Matthew inside to dry off, if it happened to be raining again. First the boy's shirt would come off, and perhaps Gilbert would have to 'accidentally' spill something on it first, but it would eventually come off either way. He would offer the kid a change of clothes and maybe something else to relax him, and if he initially refused, he would insist, taking Matthew's soaked shirt and throw it into the corner to take care of later. He would then invite Matthew into his bedroom to retrieve said change of clothes, the boy meekly following after him, cautious and embarrassed, and Gilbert would lock the door behind him, and then…

And then… well, the rest would be history.

But it would keep the boy coming back without a doubt.

It was a plausible enough fantasy.

"That's not an answer!" Gilbert protested stubbornly, resisting the urge to stomp his foot on the ground, and in his indignity, he didn't notice the way Matthew bit his lip uncomfortably, nor did he notice the way Matthew fiddled awkwardly with the pizza box, staring down at it heatedly. The boy looked awfully awkward and embarrassed, but for an entirely different reason than he usually was.

If he was being completely honest with himself, Matthew was having trouble coming up with a proper reason to continue rejecting Gilbert's advances.

* * *

"Why can't I fuck you?" Gilbert whined.

Matthew sighed impatiently, one hand propped up on his hip while the other held Gilbert's pizza, tapping his foot on the carpeted hallway floor. He'd had an awful feeling that they still weren't exactly past this stage yet. "Because," he said, letting out another low sigh, "I'm not a man-whore like you." Nor was he anything like Francis, for that matter. Maybe he should consider directing Francis in Gilbert's direction – the two would be more than perfect for each other, considering their apparent sex drives and all. "I prefer to actually date someone before I have sex with them." Unlike Francis (and apparently Gilbert), who was quite content to fuck anything was moving, legal, and consensual within five miles. Honestly, Matthew loved Francis – they were family, after all – but the man was as loose as they came.

"Will you go on a date with me?" Gilbert asked hopefully, all traces of his previous whine disappearing from his voice as he looked at Matthew with pleading eyes. Usually, he wasn't one to date, but if going on a few dates was what he would have to do to get Matthew into his bed, then he would gladly do it. Hell, he would take the boy dancing and buy him flowers if he that's what he really wanted.

He averted his eyes from Gilbert's gaze. Matthew didn't need to think twice about his answer. "No."

"Why noooot?"

"I don't know you," Matthew answered simply. It was a good enough reason. It was a very plausible explanation for not wanting to go with Gilbert anywhere. He knew nothing about his customer except his name and the fact that he obviously had a well-paying job if he could afford to buy pizza and have it delivered to him almost every fucking night. He was going to need more information than that before he agreed to _anything, _thank you very much. Arthur had already drilled what exactly could happen to him if he didn't follow the 'rules.'

Gilbert's lips pursed thoughtfully. "Would you like to hang out sometime, then?" he asked.

Once again, Matthew's answer required no thought – or, he just didn't bother to use his brain before he said, "No."

"What?! Why the hell _not_?!" Gilbert spluttered.

Matthew shrugged dismissively. "You're a creep."

Gilbert groaned in what could be described as none other than pure frustration, shoulders drooping dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air in what would seem like defeat to anybody who didn't know Gilbert any better than Matthew did. And if this had been a few months earlier, Matthew might have actually believed that Gilbert was finally going to give up on his ridiculous quest. But, Matthew was not that naïve. Even with hardly knowing anything about him, he knew Gilbert was not the type to give up on something so easily, and much less likely to on something he had been wanting for a very, very long time. "I cannot fucking win with you!" he exclaimed.

Matthew held back a little smile, silently handing Gilbert his receipt. Of course, he wasn't going to admit that he rather enjoyed seeing Gilbert get all riled up because of him, nor was he going to admit that he sometimes was intentionally more difficult with Gilbert than usual, just to see how far he could push the man before he finally snapped – which he had discovered the vague line of with that god awful kiss incident, but that was beside the point. He was more keen to banish that memory from his mind completely than to linger on it.

"Sign here, please."

* * *

"It took you an hour and an half to get here. I should complain to your manager," Gilbert said disapprovingly, raising an eyebrow as Matthew shrugged.

The delivery boy turned his head away, raising his free hand to cover his mouth as he yawned, somehow almost losing his grip on Gilbert's food in the process. He glared at the box as if it was the source of his clumsiness before raising his eyes once again to meet Gilbert's now very amused ones. "I never said I would be on time," Matthew said tiredly. God, it had been a long night. "So shut it and give me the $7.84 that you owe me."

"I'm not tipping," Gilbert said childishly, sticking out his tongue as Matthew sighed.

"That's fine by me. I could care less."

Gilbert's eyes roved over Matthew curiously. His pizza boy wasn't being as defiant as he usually was, and even more dismissive than usual. There was something wrong with him tonight. Here the blond-haired boy was, with his head held high, the supple skin of his neck stretched and exposed, and Gilbert was too distracted by the tired grimacing of the boy's face to properly drool over the totally and completely suckable skin. Well, his salivia production rates had increased significantly, at the very least.

"Uh… Are you alright?" Gilbert asked hesitantly, almost sheepishly, feeling the urge to rub the back of his neck. He focused calm eyes on Matthew.

"I'm peachy," Matthew answered dryly.

"Lots of deliveries left?"

Matthew blinked blearily. He almost couldn't believe his own ears. Was this Gilbert… was this Gilbert trying to make small talk? No, it couldn't be possible. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural. He had gotten used to being flirted with at every possible chance… but he supposed this was nice as well. Gilbert was almost acting like a normal person, with normal feelings, and with normal motivations.

"Oh… okay…"

And Matthew didn't know what exactly came over him in that moment. Maybe it was the fact that he was so goddamn tired, and he could see Gilbert's couch from behind the man's back, looking oh so comfortable and soft. Maybe it was because of the fact that he and Gilbert had exchanged something almost equal to normal human conversation. Or, maybe, it was because Matthew had been looking for an excuse to enter Gilbert's apartment – excuse him, the man's _lair _– and he had finally thought of an excellent one. But, whatever the reason was, it made Matthew ask, "Um… do you mind if I stay here for a while? I don't feel like heading back to work just yet."

A brilliant smile lit up Gilbert's face, and he gladly stepped out of the way, ushering Matthew inside. "Of course, of course," he said quickly. "Annoying customers bothering you?"

Matthew looked over his shoulder for a moment, squinting his eyes behind his glasses at one of his most– no, the _most _annoying customer he had. He sighed. Well, he could at least forget about all the _other _bothersome customers when he wasn't working, at least. "You have no idea," he muttered finally.

He still wasn't quite sure why he had decided it would be a good idea to hide out in Gilbert's apartment, but he would find a reason to justify his insanity at some point.

Maybe the grease had finally gotten to him.

Gilbert slid down the wall so that he was sitting in the middle of his doorframe, cross legged and hands sitting calmly in his lap. Across the hall, though he would have much rather preferred to collapse on that brilliant couch, Matthew followed suit, shoving the box of pizzas over to Gilbert before mirroring his position.

"You could try to get a better job, you know," Gilbert said, narrowing his eyes in thought as he looked over Matthew once again. Now, he didn't want to exactly remind the boy of that fact, seeing as it was Matthew's job that brought the delivery boy to his apartment door five times a week, but the kid looked beyond exhausted. And Gilbert, just maybe, might have felt a little bad for him.

"I know that," Matthew replied, picking the glasses off his face so that he could rub at his eyes more thoroughly.

"I bet if you went to college–"

"I've already been," Matthew interrupted.

Gilbert's eyebrows hiked up to his hairline. The boy had already went through college, but he still worked at a pizza delivery joint to make a living? What the hell was up with that? Surely, Matthew would be able to land a better paying job than what he had now, and one that wouldn't exhaust him so much. The kid was fucking adorable – he wouldn't have a problem charming whatever kind of person would interview him. Honestly, Gilbert was split between wanting Matthew to stay exactly where he was, and wanting the boy to move on to bigger and better things – or at least something that wouldn't push the poor kid so hard. "Really?" was all he could manage in response.

The Canadian nodded. "Yeah, I graduated from the local university last year."

_Last year_? And he was _still _working as a delivery boy? _Why_?

However, instead of demanding Matthew's reasons for working such a shitty ass job, Gilbert said, "Oh, so you're a little older than I thought." Well, at least he knew now for a fact that Matthew was over eighteen. His conscience had been nagging him about not knowing the boy's true age ever since he had begun his little – but also hugely important and life changing – quest.

The delivery boy blinked, and Gilbert thought he saw a flash of amusement pass through those blue, blue eyes. "How young did you think I was?" he asked.

"Well," Gilbert scratched the back of his head, shifting so that his back was leaning against the doorframe. "I thought, at a minimum, eighteen."

Something like a smile twitched at Matthew's mouth. "At least you're not a pedophile. You're enough of a freak already. I don't need another reason to avoid you, do I?"

"Hey!" Gilbert exclaimed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest, shifting in place once again. Frankly, the cold, hard floor was very uncomfortable, and he was beginning to lose all feeling in his ass, but he was having an actual conversation with the love of his life, and he wouldn't give that up for anything. This was a first, and he was determined not to ruin it so quickly. "It was your job, not your appearance, that made me think you were younger than you were."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well, you're the one delivering pizzas at your age." He scoffed.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Oh, bite me."

Gilbert smirked. "With great pleasure, Mattie."

"Ugh!" Matthew groaned, rubbing at his face. "You're so fucking impossible to talk to! You always twist everything around into something sexual!"

Well, there goes that conversation.

* * *

Gilbert was scheming.

He was plotting.

He was calculating.

And at that moment, if he owned an animal, it would be a white Persian–

–and he would be stroking it sinisterly.

* * *

"Nice weather we're having," Gilbert said conversationally, watching carefully as Matthew's eyebrow shot up his forehead. He was confused.

"…Sure," Matthew replied, blinking.

"I think it's supposed to rain over the weekend, though…" Gilbert continued, humming thoughtfully to himself. "And I was planning to go out, too. It's too bad."

"Um…"

Matthew was disconcerted.

* * *

"I heard gas prices went up another ten cents."

"Uh…"

"I usually walk, but I'm sure in your line of work, the price of gas is rather important."

The pizza delivery boy frowned, beyond confused. "Wha…?"

Matthew was nervous.

* * *

"Did you see the new Adam Sandler movie that came out last weekend?"

"No…"

"Personally, I'm not a fan of his work. I think he should have quite after his Saturday Night Live stint."

"Mmhmm…"

Matthew was scared shitless.

* * *

Gilbert rearranged a few mushrooms and peppers on the sidewalk, smirking.

He would have broken out into maniacal laughter, but it was three in the morning, and his art wasn't finished yet. He wasn't keen on getting caught just yet.

Plus, he was attractive enough without the laughter.

* * *

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" Matthew demanded as Gilbert's apartment door swung open, revealing the pale-skinned man himself looking as innocent as can be – well, as innocent as one could look with amused red eyes and what seemed to be like a permanent smirk on his face.

"What are you talking about?" Gilbert asked, feigning confusion, cocking his head to the side to add to the effect.

"What the hell am _I _talking about? What the hell have _you _been talking about?" Matthew exclaimed, wanting to throw his hands up into the air for emphasis, but that would have meant dropping Gilbert's goddamn pizza. He couldn't afford to pay for Gilbert's pizza again, not after being interrogated the last time that had happened. He couldn't afford to lose his only job over one annoying customer. "What is with all these superflouous conversations about the weather and the news and other stupid shit? It's fucking creeping me out. _You're _fucking creeping me out more than usual!"

"I thought this was what you wanted?" Gilbert asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, an eyebrow cocking in question. If only Matthew could see the smug smirk he was holding inside.

"Me?" Matthew asked. His eyebrows scrunched together, baffled. "Why would I want that?"

"Isn't idiotic and pointless pleasantries how you become more familiar with strangers?"

Fucking hell. Was _that _why Gilbert had been acting so damn weird over the past few days? What an idiot. "No!" Matthew exclaimed. "I mean, well, yeah… Yeah, it is… But… Just don't…" He paused, searching for the right words. "It's weird when you do it," he said finally, letting out a slow breath, pursing his lips at Gilbert's smug look.

"Alright, then. Consider that plan aborted." Gilbert's smirk widened. "I love you. Can I fuck you, please?"

Matthew groaned. At least they were on stable ground again. "No!"

Matthew swore it was only – _only_ – out of exasperation that he was smiling. It wasn't because he was amused by the white-haired weirdo's antics, or because he had almost missed the Gilbert who had flirted with him every single night, nor was he relieved that the real Gilbert hadn't been secretly abducted by pod-people/stepford-wife hybrids without his knowledge.

He really _wasn't. _

He swore.

He was exasperated, and nothing more.

Gilbert, on the other hand, hadn't seen Matthew smile like that before. The kid had dimples – fucking _dimples._

He was too busy getting his respiratory system functioning properly to worry about that he had been rejected yet again.

* * *

**A/N **;; Is it sad that I didn't even know what a dimple was until I wrote this chapter? I had to go and look up a picture of what they looked like. I just thought it was a spot or something that appeared when you smile, and apparently it looked fucking adorable.

**B.A**: Why, thank you, sir/madam. I am incredibly honoured that this story has been compared to maple syrup and pancakes – two of my favourite things in the world. It must be a Canadian thing.

Stay awesome, guys.


	4. The Masterpiece of a Madman

**A/N **;; HAPPY CANADA DAY! And if FF says this was updated on June 30th, it _lies_, because in my timezone, it _is _Canada Day! Happy birthday, Canada!

* * *

**Hardly a Love Story**

**…o…**

**Chapter Four  
**_**The Masterpiece of a Madman**_

**…o…**

* * *

"If you already went to college, why do you still work as a delivery boy?" Gilbert demanded as he opened his door, not even bothering to wait until Matthew had knocked. The question had been gnawing at Gilbert's mind all night, wondering why his precious delivery boy continued to work at a dead end job when he was obviously qualified for something better. Perhaps it was a stupid question that kept his mind occupied all through the night, but he was curious about it all the same.

Matthew looked up from his rather intense staring contest with the pizza box in his hand, his other hand still raised in preparation to knock on Gilbert's door. Somehow, the man had managed to open the door before he had even completed the motion of knocking – he suspected that Gilbert had been waiting on his side of the door, but he had no proof to support his theory. He might have been surprised if this had been any other customer, but nothing surprised him with Gilbert anymore. The surprise factor had faded by the time the second month had rolled around, when Matthew found that his customer still hadn't given up on him. But it was Gilbert, after all. What else could he expect?

"That will be $8.55," Matthew replied, his voice wavering on the edge of amused. Gilbert's expectant stare, on the other hand, didn't waver in the slightest. That wasn't surprising, either. "And I don't have any motivation for a career. I just don't see the point of climbing the corporate ladder, you know?" Matthew answered honestly, cocking his eyebrow as Gilbert held out both his hands, waiting, before he remembered the purpose of his visit. "What about you?" he asked, handing Gilbert his food. "What do you do besides making passes at people who show up at your door?"

Gilbert shook his head, pale white bangs falling into his eyes. He needed a haircut, Matthew noted distantly. "I told you, you're the only one," he promised. "What, are you worried that you've got some competition in the mailman or something?" Gilbert asked, cheeky, a smirk spreading across his face. "The landlord is kinda hot, too, so maybe next time he comes by to collect the rent…"

Matthew snorted. "No, really," he pressed, curious. "What do you do?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Not much of anything, really," he confessed.

Other than for the few minutes after the dreaded 'kissing incident,' Gilbert had never once shown any indication he had even heard of the concept of shame. Matthew hadn't even been sure embarrassment was an emotion Gilbert was capable of feeling. Therefore, it was absolutely thrilling to see the man rubbing at the back of his neck, awkward, and grimacing instead of leering down at him seductively– er, perversely, definitely perversely.

But it was a little seductive, all the same.

Matthew only quirked an eyebrow to let Gilbert know he was still waiting for a proper answer. And, after a deep breath of release, Gilbert answered. "I'm one of those corporate ladder climbers–"

The Canadian couldn't stop himself. "Oh, man, I so called it!" he crowed, laughing, the noise echoing throughout the halls of his customer's floor. Gilbert frowned, obviously not finding as much amusement in the fact as Matthew did. "I knew it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, his laughter dying down into little giggles. "I knew it! I knew you were some corporate big shot who gets his kicks from seducing young men!"

Gilbert's frown lightened slightly, but he still didn't look overly happy. Normally, seeing Matthew so delighted would have made him smile, but not when his delivery boy was making fun of the job that gave him his tips five nights a week. Ludwig had gotten the job for him, and it had been the first stable job he'd had in years, even if it was monotonous and boring as hell. He crossed his arms over his chest, a pale eyebrow raising in question. "How old do you think I am?"

Matthew stopped his bout of celebration. He thought for a moment. "Um… thirty-five?"

Gilbert visibly pulled back at the prospect, blinking in bewilderment. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. "Really? Shit, I'm only twenty-eight!" He pinned Matthew with a deathly serious look, pulling at his locks of his short hair. "Am I going grey already? Is my face all wrinkly and gross?" he demanded, and when Matthew's face split into a wide smile, shaking his head, Gilbert released his hair, looking exaggeratingly relieved, wiping invisible sweat off his brow and all. "Thanks for that confidence boost," he drawled, brushing the strands of hair he had accidentally pulled out off of his hands. "I'm not even a CEO or anything; that's my brother's job. I sit in a fucking cubicle all day. I'm not even sure what my company does… or what I do, either."

"Can you feel your brain rotting away as you sit there?"

The German man shook his hand in a dismissive motion. "Nah. You see, I've perfected this technique that manages to shut down all higher neurological functions while I'm there."

The Canadian's eyebrow rose. He wondered how often Gilbert practiced his extended vocabulary, seeing as the words didn't exactly roll off his tongue. "Meditation?" he guessed. Honestly, he really wasn't sure how well that technique would work in a supposedly stressful work environment. He had tried meditating several times in the "peaceful confines" of his own room throughout his high school years, but he had never been able to tune his little brother out. No matter where he was, and no matter where Alfred was – even if he was on the other side of the fucking world – his brother had always found _some _way to disrupt the peace Matthew had managed to submerge himself in.

"Partially," Gilbert replied. "That, and I hit a doobie." Ludwig had long ago given up on trying to break him of the habit. When he came down from his office for his daily rounds of his employees, Ludwig had learned to ignore the redness around Gilbert's eyes and inability to stay focused on something for too long, instead looking towards the paperwork he had sent down for his brother. Provided that he had done at least half of the work Ludwig had sent him, Gilbert was usually able to avoid receiving any flack. "But I can still hear it," he continued. "It's the sound of my brain liquefying in the monotonous droning all around me. You smoke?"

Matthew looked nothing short of incredulous. He looked as though Gilbert had asked him whether the sky was blue, or if he breathed air. He laughed. "I work as a pizza delivery boy," he said through his laughter as it began to recede. "It's practically a requirement for the job."

"True that, my friend," Gilbert conceded.

Matthew didn't even bother to point out that they weren't friends. They were just strangers – strangers who met each other five times a week, who'd had more awkward conversations that Matthew had had with Arthur and his parents put together, and who, for the last few months, had been teetering on some kind of edge. What would happen if they fell, Matthew didn't have a clue, but he didn't think he would like the consequences very much. So, instead of pointing out the obvious, he said, "Your job sounds like shit."

Gilbert only scoffed. "Like you grew up dreaming of becoming a delivery boy."

Matthew looked away, a blush crawling up his cheeks, heating his face to the tips of his ears.

And his customer, on the other hand, looked to be somewhere between surprised and looking as though he had just won the thirty-million lottery. "You did?" he asked, an impossibly wide smile spreading across his face, making his cheeks ache with the size of it.

When Matthew still refused to answer, Gilbert's smile got, if it was physically possible, even wider. He looked more like the Cheshire cat than anything else. "You did?" he prompted again. "Seriously?"

With a face that was quickly nearing the colour of a ripe tomato, Matthew jerked his head up. "Well, yeah, you know…" he began defensively. "There was this… guy in my neighbourhood; he was the epitome of cool… well, he was to me, at least… He delivered pizzas to my house a couple of times." Matthew had fantasized more than once to the older boy showing up at his door shirtless, pizzas in hand, ready to deliver more than just the food.

Gilbert nodded seriously. He understood completely. "I can see why you might find that appealing." It was true. He, of course, had had many fantasies about Matthew showing up at his door shirtless, pizzas in hand.

But then of course, there was also naked under a trench coat Matthew showing up at his door, a definite something else in his hand, shirtless Matthew on the couch, beckoning him with a jerk of his finger and lusty eyes, Matthew in the hallway, Matthew against the brick wall in the alley beside his apartment building, Matthew in his bed…

And setting was not the only thing Gilbert had a prolific imagination for. His creativity extended to positioning – taking one look at Matthew's body when he was wet, after taking his mental photographs for later, he realized the boy would be flexible in more than one way – dialogue, and props as well.

Gilbert was the fucking Nobel-prize-winning playwright of sexual fantasies when provided with the proper muse.

* * *

"–and the bitch in the cube behind me does nothing but file her nails and then drums them on her desk. Every day, it's at least five fucking hours of CLICKclickclickCLICK over and over and over," Gilbert whined, looking about ready to rip his own hair out (again) as he imitated the irritating clacking that plagued his everyday work life. "I don't get why Lutz doesn't just fire her already. She does _nothing_."

Matthew held his hands up in surrender, trying to reign in the smile that was threatening to spill across his face and reveal his amusement in Gilbert's pain. Arthur's tales of being a travel agent and Alfred's stories of his sucky, 'un-heroic' business professor were nothing compared to this gold. "Okay, okay, you win," he said, tsking while he shook his head. It was becoming harder and harder to hold that smile inside. Gilbert's whining, though slightly annoying, was also awfully entertaining. "Your job is assuredly a living purgatory. I have nothing else to compare."

Gilbert's lips pursed, pouting, and Matthew felt his own lips twitch in response. "I think purgatory would be more awesome than this joint. It fucking sucks."

The Canadian nodded sympathetically. Gilbert was beginning to sound more and more like Alfred with each passing second. "How do you not go bat-shit insane in there?"

"Well, if I got arrested for gunning down everyone in the place, I wouldn't get a chance to fuck you," Gilbert explained patiently, holding up a finger as though he were talking to a disobedient child. "I've told you before, and I'll tell you again – this is something I've been waiting for my entire life." He smirked. "It's too late to give up on now. You'll be mine soon enough."

"Sure, okay." Matthew's eyes rolled skyward. That wasn't going to happen anytime soon, if he had anything to say about it. If he could help it at all, he and Gilbert were going to stay just the way they were – a pair of… odd acquaintances. "But aren't you supposed to say something like, _'Oh, Matthew! You're my only light in this hellish existence!' _or _'Oh, Matthew! You're the only thing that keeps me sane!' _or some other kind of lovey-dovey shit?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Nah, you're more of a hindrance to my sanity than anything else."

Someone who keeps you up at night, makes your pulse race, makes you want to (and actually) accost them in the hallway, and make your blood rush straight out of your brain to the more southern locales of your body at the very sight of them couldn't possibly have any mental health benefits.

"Hey!" Matthew exclaimed half-heartedly. He couldn't really say he was all that insulted. He couldn't really fault Gilbert when the man made him absolutely mental. As much as he complained about Gilbert's sleaziness to Kumajirou and his generally creepy introduction and his total lack of social skills–

And his leering and muscled stomach–

And him showing up in boxers and size too small tank tops each night–

And his 'undying devotion' and his cheap pick-up lines and his shitty sexual innuendos–

And his devil-may-care attitude–

And his teasing eyes and his proclamations of love and his weird pizza obsession–

And his weird pizza boy obsession and his odd use of leftovers–

And his stupid smirks and his obliviousness to reality–

And… well, fucking hell.

Matthew's head was full of nothing but complaints about Gilbert.

It was no wonder his heartbeat went erratic whenever he saw '54C' show up on his list of addresses; he was obviously dreading seeing the man.

Matthew was also kind of oblivious to reality.

* * *

"…this one is called 'Van Gogh's Pepperoni Night,' and this one is 'Picasso's The Leftover Guitarist,' and I finally had enough saved up last week to make, 'Michelangelo's The Creation of Pizza,'" Gilbert explained each picture, flipping through the photographs with no small degree of pride. He was hardly humble.

Matthew 'ooh'ed and 'ahh'ed at each of the pictures approvingly, his fingers set on his chin. He looked approvingly at Gilbert, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, his gaze flickering away as soon as Matthew's eyes landed on him. He nodded approvingly. "What an innovative use of the anchovy."

"I always knew there had to be another, higher purpose for them," Gilbert agreed. "Why else would anchovies ever be a topping option? I mean, who actually _likes _anchovies?"

Matthew shrugged. He was just as mystified as Gilbert was. "There's this weird old couple a few blocks down," he began, pulling away from where he had been leaning over Gilbert's shoulder. The Prussian man could say he was honestly disappointed by the sudden loss of warm air brushing by his face. "Every Thursday night at exactly 4:37 PM, call in for two medium pizzas, both half-anchovy, half-pineapple."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Why don't they order just one medium one-topping anchovy and one medium one-topping pineapple pizza?"

Ah, someone who understood! "_Exactly_," Matthew drew the word out, throwing his arms up in some kind of gesture.

The Prussian man shook his head slowly, tucking the pictures away once again. He had finally gotten a chance to show them off to somebody who could appreciate them for their full worth. Sure, he had showed them off to Feliciano, but the Italian hadn't reacted in the way Gilbert had expected him to. He knew Matthew would appreciate his artwork more, what with their connection through pizza and all. "That sounds a little kooky to me," he said.

Not that Gilbert could really pass judgment on the ordering habits of others.

"I know," Matthew replied, sighing. "It gives everyone at the Pizza Plaza the heebie jeebies."

Gilbert hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe they like having the juice of the pineapples seeping over to the anchovy side for flavour…?"

Matthew crossed his arms over his chest. "I considered that, but then instead of two medium one-topping, half-anchovy and half-pineapple, why not just get two medium, two-topping pizzas with pineapple and anchovy all around?"

"They either like the mixed flavours but not the mixed textures of anchovy and pineapple, or they like the mixed flavours but don't like paying the extra charges you guys have for every additional topping."

Matthew sent him an odd look. "It's only twenty-five cents."

"Those twenty-five cents add up quickly."

"You sound bitter," the Canadian observed, sounding much more amused than he had the right to be.

Gilbert was extremely bitter–

"Oh, no, not at all," he assured. "No price is too high to continue seeing the love of my almost every evening."

–after all, for well over six months, he had been coughing up wads of cash for the overly-priced pizza with only a failed kiss to show for his efforts.

Matthew suddenly made a show of glancing down at his watch, making a small 'o' with his mouth. "I should probably get going," he said, already turned around and halfway out the door when Gilbert called after him.

"You got another stop on your route?"

Matthew spared him a glance over his shoulder. "Heh, yeah."

There was, in fact, no other stop on Matthew's route, but he didn't feel like explaining that to Gilbert. He didn't want to tell his customer that he should have been back at the Pizza Plaza quite a while ago.

He was running late and he, unfortunately, couldn't really blame the traffic for his tardiness when it was 8:00 PM on a Sunday night.

Spending an extra twenty minutes speaking to a customer could do that.

* * *

Matthew was beginning to wonder if he secretly harboured slight masochistic tendencies.

Why else would he choose to subject himself to feeling embarrassed, awkward, and incredibly disturbed – often all at once – for extended periods of time by his own volition?

He blamed it on Gilbert. Total creeps weren't supposed to have such a disarming grin. They were supposed to have an obvious lack of dental hygiene, an unfit body, eyes that weren't kind of pretty to look at, and not to mention a malignant odour.

The leer, however, was definitely a universally applicable trait, something that was present in all creeps from all walks of life, whether they had a disarming grin to go along with it or not. When Gilbert leered, it was as though he had already mentally fucked you into a coma and knew he could achieve the same – but with much more tangible results – if only you would just let him try.

Matthew could definitely believe it. He had already blacked out from a mere kiss. Having sex with Gilbert would probably land him in the hospital.

* * *

"I ordered my pizza two hours ago," Gilbert said, disapproval obvious in his voice as he opened the door, looking Matthew over up and down, as if he had expected a mortal injury to be the cause of the tardiness of his pizza delivery.

"Mike called in sick," Matthew explained. "I had to cover his deliveries as well."

Matthew didn't have a co-worker named Mike.

"Is it cold?" Gilbert asked.

The Canadian blinked, confused. "Not at all," he replied. "The low is only supposed to be fifteen tonight."

Gilbert reached out and took the pizza box from Matthew's hands. "I meant my pizza," he said.

"Oh, then most definitely." He watched as Gilbert lifted the lid to his pizza, prodding it with his fingers. "I forgot the hotbox for it."

The hotbox had not been forgotten, in fact. It was neatly stacked with all the other hotboxes at the Pizza Plaza because Matthew's shift had ended over fifteen minutes ago.

"No tip for you tonight!"

* * *

Matthew knew that, if Gilbert found out the real reason why his orders were taking so long to be delivered as of late was because Matthew actually waited until his shift was over to deliver them, then Gilbert would take it as a profession of love on Matthew's part.

And Matthew had been entirely correct in his assumptions, for once. Gilbert had figured out his "secret" a few weeks ago, but had kept his mouth shut for the sake of letting Matthew think he was fooling him. He had already decided that the boy must be completely smitten with him. Gilbert, despite being blindingly stupid in some aspects, was not daft enough not to realize Matthew was knocking on his door far later that he normally would have. He would know. He had the boy's work schedule memorized, after all.

However, Gilbert, through positive reinforcement that had included observing Matthew's behaviour around him for several months now, had begun to realize that the less he mentioned 'love' around Matthew, the longer the Canadian boy stayed in his company. It had just taken a while for that to sink into his thick head. Therefore, he thought it rather smart not to mention the real reason behind Matthew's late arrivals.

Matthew had not been trying to profess anything; it was just…

He thought it was kind of fun talking to the eccentric stranger.

* * *

"This is the first pizza I've had in three years, or something… I think…" Matthew said thoughtfully, sitting cross-legged against the wall of Gilbert's entrance. Across the little hall, Gilbert had his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against the door to his closed apartment, staring at Matthew from across the way. In between them, on Gilbert's old carpet, sat an untouched cardboard box.

Inside this box was a large pepperoni and sausage pizza, rapidly growing colder.

"No shit?" Gilbert's leg was twitching. And he was absolutely _itching _to open the box, but he knew Matthew would have to take the first move.

Never before had a greasy pizza held so much significance.

"When you see what goes on behind the scenes, and have smelt nothing but melted cheese for, like, five years, the stuff doesn't seem all that appealing anymore," Matthew answered honestly, grimacing. He had no idea how Alfred could inhale the amount of burgers he did after working at a burger shack. Surely, he had thought that something about that place would finally turn off Alfred's obsession.

"Oh, yeah?" Normally, Gilbert would be hanging onto Matthew's every word – mainly because he would be looking for an opportunity to twist Matthew's words to fit his own sex-craved fantasies – but he reeeeeeally wanted Matthew to open the box. The sooner the better, really.

"This doesn't mean we're friends, or anything," Matthew warned as he rocked forward onto his knees, lifting the lid of the pizza box and taking out a single slice for himself.

"It doesn't." Gilbert was imagining this as more of a 'first date' than anything else.

Gilbert didn't really want to be 'just friends' with Matthew, anyways. Although, he supposed he could _suffer _through being friends with benefits. But really, he would prefer not to be in an open relationship. No one should be allowed to touch that body but him.

"It's only because I'm low on cash and you offered me free food," Matthew explained in between bites of his slice.

Gilbert nodded sagely, reaching forward to drag the box towards himself. "I understand."

Matthew looked away. "As long as that's clear."

* * *

Matthew knew accepting free food was a bad idea. Being in debt to a man who wanted to bone you probably wasn't the greatest idea he had ever come up with, but what else was he supposed to do with his evening? He hadn't been lying about the being low on cash part. He was barely making enough to scrape by.

But each time Matthew looked up, Gilbert was either smiling at him from around the slice of the thin-crust pepperoni and sausage pizza shoved in his mouth, or was deliberately doing incredibly sinful things to his straw, his eyes half-lidded.

Both were equally disconcerting.

* * *

Of all the things Gilbert was known for, self-control was not one of those things. He ate what he wanted, said what he wanted, and fucked who he wanted, regardless of the possible consequences. And despite Ludwig and his parents' efforts to stop him, he would always find some sort of wiggle room in whatever kind of punishment he received. That was just who he was, and how he had always been.

"I've taken a vow of celibacy," Gilbert announced as he opened the door to his familiar pizza boy.

Said pizza boy looked hardly amused as Gilbert's words registered in his mind. "Entering a monastery, are you?" There was no need for Matthew to call bullshit on Gilbert's story; the hands latched sassily on his hips gave his customer the exact same message.

"If Superman were blond, I think you could probably make the role," Gilbert said thoughtfully.

Matthew blinked. "_What_?"

The Prussian waved a dismissive hand, brushing the comment off.

"Okay, so what…" Matthew shook his head. "What the hell is this vow of celibacy thing about? And by the way, you still owe me $6.75 from last night."

"What?!" Gilbert exclaimed, bewildered. "That's more than half the price!"

"So?" Matthew raised an eyebrow, daring Gilbert to challenge him. "I only had one slice, and you kept the rest. I shouldn't even have to pay as much as I am."

"But the two times before that, you didn't even pay for your slices. You've eaten four slices total, and that's the equivalent of half–"

Matthew scowled, holding up a single finger. Gilbert's mouth clamped shut. "One, don't keep track of how many slices I've eaten. It's fucking creepy as hell." He raised another finger. "Two, five slices make up half of a large pizza. I should know." Yet another finger was raised. "Three, you're the one with a job that pays over minimum wage. I can barely afford groceries most of the time." And a final, fourth finger was held up. "And four, what the fuck is this celibacy bullshit?"

"Fine, I won't argue, but that's only because I lo–"

"'Love me,' yeah, yeah. I got it."

"I really do, Mattie." He grinned. "Aaaaanyway, I was reading this book the other day–"

"Oh? You read?"

"Yeah, I borrowed it from my brother." For whatever reason, Matthew had an itching feeling that told him that Gilbert's definition of 'borrow' was not the same as everyone else's. "It's one of those paperbacks with the steamy covers. My brother has tons of them. Anyway, the main character was this multi-million dollar corporation's CEO – a bachelor and a total womanizer, a 'player' or something. He falls in love with his shy, quiet maid who has a fiery spirit at heart–"

Matthew's eyebrow hiked up his forehead. This was certainly a new side of Gilbert that he hadn't seen before. "You like reading about women's heaving bosoms?"

"Well, I actually don't mind women all that much," Gilbert admitted with a shrug. "But I definitely skim ahead to the bits about Manuel's throbbing member, or Eric's heated loins–"

The Canadian's lips pursed, trying to hold his laughter in. "You read these kind of things frequently, do you?"

"Not as much as Lutz does. But these books are totally awesome. They're like portable, public-friendly porn. You get a little hot without the pesky problem of a boner."

Listening to Gilbert say things such as 'throbbing member' and 'heated loins' was not exactly getting Matthew very hot, but was instead making it increasingly difficult to keep his lips shut against the laughter that was rising in his chest. He supposed he could see the book's appeal, but that was partly due to Gilbert's voice, which, though Matthew wouldn't exactly categorize as sexy, was at least nice on the ears – and that wasn't even when Gilbert was using his husky 'let-me-fuck-your-ear-via-sexy-sound-waves' voice.

God, Gilbert was turning him into a sexual deviant…

He really should not think about sexually deviant acts and Gilbert at the same time.

"Do you ever stop to listen to what is coming out of your mouth?" Matthew asked incredulously. God, Alfred and Gilbert were a hell of a lot more similar that he had originally thought. It was like speaking to a more perverted version of his brother, except with more 'awesome' instead of 'hero.'

"Why would I need to do that if I think about what I'm going to say before I say it?"

"You actually think about it before you say this shit?" Okay, so that definitely put another line between Alfred and Gilbert. His little brother had no brain-to-mouth filter. He couldn't help himself when he said stupid things. But Gilbert on the other hand…

"Of course I think about it, doesn't everyone?" he asked, and before Matthew could give him the obvious answer, he continued. "But stop distracting me. I've forgotten where I was–"

"Some exec falls for his maid."

Gilbert snapped his fingers. "Right! So, basically, in order to prove himself worthy and win the love of the maid, the man abandons his promiscuous ways, doesn't have sex with other women, gives to charity, adopts puppies, some other sappy shit. You know. Blah, blah, blah."

"And…?"

"I'm going to prove that I love you by not having sex!" he proclaimed proudly.

"Okay, sure." Matthew nodded. "Good luck with that."

"I'll do it," Gilbert promised. He looked over Matthew again. "You really would make a hell of a good gay Superman, you know."

Matthew pursed his lips, thoughtful. "I think he already is gay, though… You know, the tights and all… And his horrible sense of fashion…"

Gilbert nodded in agreement. "That's true…" He met Matthew's gaze. "You don't believe me."

"Believe you?" Matthew repeated. "No, I totally agree with you. That bright red and blue combination is nothing but a major eyesore, not to mention that underwear over the tights is incredibly uncalled for. I cannot believe that a Canadian actually created this guy."

"I meant my vow," Gilbert said dryly.

"Oh, I believe you, alright. I just don't think you could last more than… three days, tops."

Gilbert shrugged. "Well, it's not like I can't get a blowjob now and again."

Matthew frowned, looking away. "You still owe me $7.75."

"Hey!" Gilbert exclaimed indignantly, scowling. "You added an extra dollar! What the hell did I say?!"

The Canadian only shook his head slowly. For someone who claimed to be so awesome, Gilbert could be awfully stupid sometimes. "Read another novel and see if you can figure it out."

Not that Matthew really cared if Gilbert got blowjobs from anyone else. They weren't dating. They had absolutely no form of a commitment to each other.

They were just two strangers...

…who shared a pizza together every Thursday night.

* * *

**A/N **;; Wow, this chapter turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it would be – over five thousand words and thirteen pages. You would think with how hard Prussia is trying to get into Canada's pants, it would be easy for me to just kind of finish this story rather quickly, but the chase is three quarters of the fun for me.

It's been kind of difficult trying to move this relationship forward without losing the essence of the relationship I created in the first place, if that makes any sense at all. I hope I'm doing alright so far.

**B.A: **Yes, you're back! Aha, you're one of my favourite reviewers! (Wait. Am I supposed to be like a parent or something, and not have favourites…? Oh well.) You should get an account! And we share a headcanon, awesome. Anyway, the chase between two characters is always my favourite part of a romance, so yes, I'm going to stretch it out. I'll just try to keep it as entertaining as possible, and maybe people won't complain about lack of progress. (If it makes you feel any better, I'm not getting pancakes tomorrow, either.) I'm going to light a sparkler for the Fourth of July, for my American readers. Happy early Independence Day!


	5. The Last Words of a Lovestruck Fool

**A/N **;; Sorry that this chapter took so long to come out! It took me a long time to come up and edit this part, and it isn't even as long or as funny (at least in my opinion, but you can all judge for yourselves) as the previous chapters. I had to cut out the last two scenes from this chapter for the sake of my sanity, but they'll be in the next chapter… probably.

I'm kind of maybe hoping to make this story reach fifty reviews by chapter ten. Can you guys help me out? It'll be the first time I ever reach fifty on any of my stories, so it would mean a lot.

Chapter titles are such a bitch to come up with. I swear, they are one of the hardest parts of writing this story.

* * *

**Hardly a Love Story**

**…o…**

**Chapter Five  
**_**The Last Words of a Lovestruck Fool**_

* * *

As the year begun to draw to a close, the beautiful summer weather they had been blessed with quickly beginning to bow out, in its place came temperatures that dropped further and further each night. It had been dropping so much, in fact, that it had prompted Gilbert to wear not only an old t-shirt and boxers, but sweat pants as well whenever he came to answer the telltale knocking of maybe his favourite person in the world.

Matthew, on the other hand, seemed to be more in his element as ever as autumn began, not saying a word when Gilbert came to the door muttering under his breath about the damned chill that came from beneath his door. However, the German man's complaints all but came to a halt as his eyes took in just how unequivocally cute his pizza boy looked. He wouldn't deny that even seeing as something as simple as the boy's lip quirk upwards sent warm tingles throughout his entire body. He was a positively horny bastard due to his recent bout of abstinence – though he hadn't yet found it within himself to give up hand jobs and/or blowjobs. That would be simply scandalous. If one was willing to offer those up so selflessly, was it not the polite thing to do to respond accordingly? It wasn't cheating on his vow, exactly. He never had promised that he would avoid _all _forms of sexual gratification, had he?

And despite his efforts, he had yet to figure out the reason behind Matthew's anger from the night he had announced his vow. Just as the Canadian had suggested, he had read through several more of his brother's romance and advice novels, but none of them had provided the answer he sought.

Frustrated with his lack of answers, Gilbert vowed to himself that he would get the reason – somehow – out of Matthew the next time he ordered pizza.

And yet, when Matthew appeared in front of his door after the rather sudden change in weather – with a brown tuque shoved down over his head, bits of wavy blond hair poking out from underneath and hanging just below his glasses, enough that the boy had to irritably blow it out of his eyes every few minutes, a forest green scarf wrapped around his neck, and his nose tinged pink from the cold – Gilbert felt the words die in his throat. The image was just so goddamn cute that he felt everything wrench up inside him. He still wanted to throw Matthew onto his bed and ravish him, but first he wanted… he wanted… he wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to do to Matthew…

He felt like his small intestines were making a bid for freedom by twisting and clenching around every one of his vital organs until they had climbed up to nest in his esophagus as Matthew's lips quirked up, amused and slightly confused by his lack of greeting.

He wanted those eyes, so bright and blue and so, so pretty, framed with long, thick eyelashes, to look at him only.

He wanted to be the only one that could cause that little twitch of a smile.

He wanted to be the only one that could kiss those thin, chapped lips.

He wanted to be the only one who could make Matthew laugh like he did in that moment, so easily and without a drop of tension, his eyes lighting with mirth as he regarded the man in front of him.

Gilbert swore he could feel his heart stop for one, brief moment as Matthew said his name, looking up at him from over his glasses. "Gilbert?" he muttered, sounding nothing short of astounded. "Gilbert has nothing to say?" The other side of his lips twitched upwards, bringing in a full smile. "Now this is something I'd like to see more often."

Gilbert just wanted… _him._

What the hell was wrong with him?

* * *

Natural colours, he found, were definitely better on the kid than that gaudy Pizza Plaza red.

Gilbert imagined that Matthew would look awfully pretty beneath the falling autumn leaves.

He really needed to stop reading those trashy romance novels for women.

And he also needed to go do something manly – like punch through a solid brick wall or something equally awesome to affirm that yes, his dick had not just shrivelled up and died.

* * *

Antonio was embarrassed.

Gilbert was devastated.

What the hell was wrong with him?

* * *

Antonio was feeling charitable.

Gilbert kept his eyes closed and thought of gaudy Pizza Plaza red.

This was all just terrible wrong.

But it was still functional.

* * *

When Gilbert went to open his apartment door, after being roused from a particularly good nap and dreams of certain shirtless pizza boys, he didn't know the love of his life would be waiting on the other side.

However, the rather annoying, persistent ringing of his doorbell should have been a dead giveaway.

As Gilbert opened the door and revealed the person standing there, he hadn't exactly expected to see Matthew, looking more pissed off than he ever had before. His cheeks were rosy with the cold, his lips bent to a glare, and his hair stuck up every which way from where it stuck out from beneath his beanie. His eyes were nothing short of livid, and yet, Gilbert still found himself taking a moment to appreciate his love's appearance for that one brief moment before an impending sense of doom settled over his head as Matthew opened his mouth. "I thought you were dead, you sleazy prick!" were the exact words that were yelled in Gilbert's face, coming from the mouth of one Matthew Williams, who was, just as Gilbert suspected, beyond pissed off.

Gilbert felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach as Matthew's words registered in his mind. If there was any colour in his face to begin with, it would have drained away at the sight in front of him. He had never been more terrified in his life. "Oh, heeeeeey!" he greeted, feeling his mental 'you're-in-deep-shit' metre fly off the charts as Matthew took one step closer to him. Gilbert pressed himself against his apartment door, hands rising in surrender. "L-long time no see!"

"Don't you dare 'hey' me, you fucking hoser," Matthew hissed, stabbing one long finger directly against the centre of Gilbert's chest. "Sure, okay, I get it… one night of not calling in an order, maybe even two. You've been sick before and still called. But it's been nine months! Nine– freaking–months! And you've missed a single day! And now, almost two weeks go by with _nothing_?! And you didn't even answer the door Thursday night! I had to pay for that entire pizza myself. The whole thing! I don't even like ham and pineapple! Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" he demanded, his hand dropping back to his side.

How the hell could Gilbert explain that he suddenly understood what Matthew had meant all those times when he had preached about 'the distinct difference between love and lust'?

He couldn't.

Thankfully, Matthew didn't give him enough time to answer. The Canadian waited for about all of six seconds before he snapped – and Gilbert would know, as he had counted each second as it had passed, listening as Matthew's teeth ground and grinded together. If he had been at all worried about Gilbert's safety during those two weeks, it was hard to tell from the blood-curdling, Neanderthalish battle cry he gave before shoving Gilbert back against his door – hard.

Gilbert, being on the receiving end of the attack, was sincerely glad that he had closed his door behind him when stepping out to speak to Matthew – which he had done completely by choice, and not because Matthew looked capable of breaking down his door if the fancy struck him – because he would have fallen on his ass otherwise. However, the doorknob did dig into his back something fierce.

Matthew, on the other hand, was trying his best to be intimidating – which was, in reality, working out quite well. It seemed that this tactic not only worked with Alfred, but others, as well. Over two decades of practice was finally starting to pay off.

And Gilbert, with his thoughts on the other side of the spectrum compared to Matthew's, was discovering that his problem with Antonio was indeed just with Antonio, much to his delight. He might have performed a victory dance if not for his rather… unintentionally awesome position. He settled for a mental fist pump instead. Matthew's thigh was pressed between his legs, providing some much needed friction, and with the boy's heavy breathing, flushed face, and eyes alight with passion – the angry type of passion, but passion nonetheless – Gilbert's body was indeed reacting appropriately.

Gilbert was hoping Matthew was crazy with lust.

Matthew would have considered it lust as well – blood lust.

He couldn't figure out the exact reason why he was so pissed off at Gilbert, except that it was his customer's fault for totally blowing him off the previous Thursday and all the consecutive days before it.

Gilbert made no attempt to muffle his moan.

He was absolutely ecstatic to know that he could still, quite readily, get a hard on.

He had been (only a little) worried that he would have to start relying on Viagra for his needs.

"You sleazy pervert!" Matthew spat, latching both his hands on either side of Gilbert's face – he wanted no repeats of last time, thank you very much – dragged his head down, and the last remains of his fragile grip on his sanity finally broke. It had been nine months since he had met the insufferable creep, and maybe it was the (blood)lust talking, but this was as an ample as an opportunity as he had ever seen. All he saw the briefest flashes of surprise in Gilbert's eyes before he connected his mouth with the German man's own half-parted one, pushing any objections the sane part of his mind had about this plan into the very back of his conscious. He would kick himself over this all he wanted later. Right now, he had to carpe diem his way through this – seize the moment and all.

And maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could choke the stupid moron.

Beginning to feel relatively safe from another brain injury, Matthew dug one of his hands into Gilbert's hair, curious to see whether or not it was just as greasy as all the pizza the creep ate.

Surprisingly, it was sort of dry and tangled…

And, to ruin a perfectly good moment – or, as far as he was concerned, it was; he hadn't gotten another concussion and as far as he knew, neither had Gilbert, and it was therefore the closest thing to perfection he could come up with – his fingers got caught.

"Comb your hair, you slob!" Matthew scolded as he pulled away, frowning and groaning in frustration as he tried and failed to tug his fingers out of Gilbert's hair.

Gilbert whined as he bent down, twisting his upper body around, while Matthew tried in vain to extricate his fingers from the back of his head. It was more difficult of a job than either of them would have imagined.

"Oh, quit bitching!" Matthew snapped. "You gave me a concussion last time! This is nothing!" He gripped the clump of hair in his hand was stuck in and tugged hard, making Gilbert yelp in pain as he was jerked forward. The Canadian smirked to himself, quite pleased with his efforts. Gilbert had deserved it, he thought, for being… well, Gilbert.

And Gilbert was a creep that Mathew should _not _have been kissing.

What the hell was wrong with him?

* * *

"Give me your phone number."

"Whaaat?"

"I want your phone number," Matthew repeated calmly.

"Huh?"

Gilbert whimpered – one of pleasure and pain alike – partially because Matthew had decided to keep his hand tangled in his hair after all, and partially because he could not believe that so many wonderful things had come out of Matthew's mouth today.

For starters, there was his tongue…

…which was _pierced_, much to his delight.

Oh, yes, they could have some fun with that.

Gilbert might have been able to lose himself in the entirely new world of fantasies involving pierced Matthew if not for said pizza delivery boy giving a sharp tug on his hair. He tried to bite back a gasp of pain, but god, it was difficult. He didn't know Matthew had such sadistic tendencies – he made a mental note to remember that in the future. "So next time you suddenly disappear," Matthew continued once he was sure Gilbert's attention was on him once again, though the German man's mind was decidedly elsewhere. "I don't have to haul my ass over here to make sure you're okay. I can just call you instead."

Gilbert cocked an eyebrow. "Only if I can have yours."

This was a dangerous gamble on his part, he knew. There was the chance that his response would cause Matthew to withdraw his request altogether, which would leave both of them disappointed.

Matthew didn't miss a beat. "No."

The German squinted. "Why not?"

"Because you'll be calling me at all hours of the night, trying to wrangle me into having phone sex or something equally disturbing."

That was, admittedly, true.

Matthew knew him so well.

"Kiss me again," he said instead. He was really chancing his luck tonight. And when Matthew didn't respond, hardly looking impressed, Gilbert changed tactics once again. "Kiss me again, or get your fingers out of my hair." He rolled his eyes. "I'm getting old and my back can't stay like this much longer, as awesome as I am."

"Oh!" Matthew felt his cheeks heat involuntarily, some of his indignation slipping away. He had completely forgotten that extracting himself from his customer's hair had been his objective all along. He raised his other hand, working at the knots entrapping his fingers. "Right…"

"Thanks." Gilbert rubbed the back of his head as Matthew pulled back. "If I go bald prematurely, I'm blaming you."

"You're only twenty-eight," the delivery boy pointed out.

Gilbert sent him a pointed look. "Wait ten years and then tell me how you feel about hair loss and lower back problems."

"Oh, please, you're so fit it's–"

Gilbert was smiling brilliantly, like a loon, as Matthew cut himself off, realizing what exactly he'd been about to say. He had to avert his eyes away from Gilbert's face – the sight of that smile was making his stomach queasy.

"That's the first time you've ever said anything nice to me and meant it," Gilbert said meaningfully, nodding sagely. "See, you are falling in lov–"

Gilbert stopped himself, grimacing and rubbing at the back of his neck as Matthew looked at him strangely. The younger man had been around him long enough to figure out that this meant he was embarrassed by something. However, Matthew couldn't hazard a guess as to what. Gilbert had been acting strange for the last few weeks, ever since he had pledged his stupid vow, and Matthew couldn't understand why. It was highly improbable – astronomically and virtually impossible, really – that the man suddenly started societal mores.

Gilbert definitely wasn't adhering to any cultural norms any time soon. He was, however, discovering that tossing out the word 'love,' as frequently as he tossed out tissues and used condoms, was much harder to do when the word held greater significance.

* * *

In the end, Matthew left with a number, Gilbert was left with nothing, and both were completely lost.

* * *

Gilbert thought he loved Matthew from the very first time he saw him standing outside his door. Matthew was, after all, the first man he had considered having more than a one-to-seven-night-stand with – fuckbuddies/friends with benefits excluded, of course.

Now, he was falling in love with the kid for real. He wasn't particularly sure what this meant except that it was turning him into a pathetic, charmless, frightened, slightly impotent, and nervous man. He was incredibly disturbed by his weakening sex drive. It wasn't that he didn't want to have sex. He definitely did; he wanted to fuck Matthew until the kid couldn't leave his bed, and then he would have the boy all to himself. However, being with any other man was beginning to leave a horrible taste in his mouth.

One that was assuredly worse than the one after giving head.

* * *

Matthew had never really realized how accustomed he had become to seeing Gilbert every day until the man had suddenly popped out of existence for two weeks.

Even so, he had not expected himself to become so concerned with the man's safety, either. That smarmy creep had somehow burrowed himself under Matthew's skin over the last nine months or so, like a parasite.

Yes, Gilbert was a fucking parasite – like one of those nasty ones, with the suckers and hooks.

Really, Gilbert was the only one benefiting from their association – he had someone to tease, profess his love to, and make shitty passes at five days a week. Matthew, on the other hand, was slowly falling into insanity.

It was only natural to go a bit crazy when you try to disconnect yourself from reality. Tinkering with your brain like that can have adverse consequences.

Matthew sighed, shifting through his contacts until he reached 'Gilbert of 54C.'

He really ought to find out the man's last name.

Matthew released yet another sigh, this one significantly more dramatic than the last, and the piercing-riddled, teenage girl sitting in front of him on the bus turned to shoot him a dirty look over her shoulder.

Girl thought she had problems? Matthew was having his notions of love – ones that were overly romantic and naïve – ripped apart by a pot-smoking, six-year-older, corporate-ass-kissing, pizza-art-making, man-whore of a stalker.

He had problems indeed.

* * *

Yes, both Matthew and Gilbert were feeling rather lost and confused. The unnatural routine of pizza-delivery, pick-up-line, followed by total rejection was beginning to become disrupted. Neither knew where he stood with the other. Neither knew exactly where he stood with himself.

Returning some sense of normalcy between them would probably help put both men at ease. Both Gilbert and Matthew felt safe and comfortable with their daily meetings–

–which was relatively odd, to say the least, seeing as Matthew spent the entire time embarrassed and trying to hold himself back from fulfilling any odd desires while Gilbert spent the entire time turned on and trying not to leap forward and take the other man where he sat.

During these uncertain times, stability is essential.

And so Gilbert ordered takeout.

* * *

**A/N **;; There will be mentions of Denmark and Norway and maybe Iceland for next chapter, because I have a headcanon where the Nordics are kind of like Canada's extended family. One of them will be working at the Pizza Plaza with Canada. Don't judge me. It looks adorable when I imagine it.

The next chapter will be extra long to make up for the shortness of this one.

Stay awesome, guys!


	6. It's Only a Crime if You Get Caught

**A/N **;; Guys, you have no idea how proud I am of all of you right now. Thank you for sticking for this story through its absence – I noticed all my regular reviewers came back for chapter five, and that made me really happy. Thank you for considering my request of getting fifty reviews before this story gets to chapter ten. And _thank you _for the twenty-four follows, sixteen favourites, and ten reviews that chapter five brought in! Let me love you all! (*≧▽≦)/ In thanks, have this chapter early!

For my readers who follow me for more than just this story, I have a new poll on my profile page concerning stories that have yet to be published. Go vote on it! I had my old poll up for almost two years straight, and it only got twenty-eight votes over that time, so I want this one to be a little different. This time I'm going to advertise it a bit.

And I have a writing blog now! There's a link for that on my profile page, along with my personal – there will be exclusive drabbles that I might post there, as well as previews for new stories before they're posted here. I might post some of my art, too, and just general inspirations for my writing, because… you know, just because. I posted the first chapter of this story on there to attract some more attention to it (I'm shameless, I know) and one person sent me an ask requesting some GerIta. So, here is your GerIta (and some PruIta for my own enjoyment), anon. I hope you enjoy it. Remember, readers: Ask and you shall receive.

* * *

**Hardly a Love Story**

**…o…**

**Chapter Six  
**_**Stalking is Only a Crime if You Get Caught**_

**…o…**

* * *

Gilbert was never one to give up so easily. He did not waver, he did not stop to consider the consequences, nor did he stop to rethink his actions. And thus far, his strategy – or lack thereof – had treated him fairly decently. Ludwig had called him into his office countless times to discuss his lack of foresight concerning his job, but had never gotten very far. Feliciano, Ludwig's ditzy Italian secretary, who was in possession of one of the finest asses Gilbert had ever seen on a man, always burst into the office with one request or another just as Ludwig was beginning his lecture, saving Gilbert from hours of scolding.

It was one of the finest deals he had ever made, if Gilbert had anything to say about it. Shortly after meeting the Italian, Gilbert's initial impression of Feliciano had been slashed and hacked to pieces as the secretary had approached him with a mutually beneficial deal that had sent Gilbert's head reeling. In short, in exchange for Feliciano's timed and perfectly executed interruptions of Ludwig's lectures for him, he would simply cover for the Italian's daily hour-long disappearances with some excuse or another.

From there had developed a beautiful association that had somewhere along the way grown into an honest friendship. He didn't find it odd to receive a flying tackle-hug as soon as he stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor with his new private office – as Ludwig had so generously given him when he had been promoted – along with kissed cheeks. Perhaps it was cruel, but he secretly enjoyed seeing his little brother bristle in irritation as he returned Feliciano's enthusiastic affections with ones of his own. Maybe it made him a bastard, but he found amusement in the glares his brother would send him when he openly flirted with Feliciano, watching as Ludwig dragged the Italian away with some bullshit excuse he made up on the spot.

And he wouldn't deny that before meeting Matthew, spending his lunch breaks chatting and sipping coffee or sharing secret winks with Feliciano had made tingles shoot up his spine and goosebumps pop out on his skin. He wouldn't deny that having the Italian bestow even the smallest gesture of affection on him used to make his cheeks heat and his words stumble. He could understand what Ludwig saw in his secretary that made him react around him in much the same way as Gilbert had. He could see why Feliciano was able to soften the sternness of Ludwig's gaze like no one else could, why he was able to bring out smiles and little grins in Ludwig that Gilbert had previously thought only he had seen, and why his little brother looked at the Italian the way he did.

He could understand because his pizza delivery boy made him feel the same way. And though he had gotten this far with Matthew without any preplanning, the realization that he was honestly in love with the kid made Gilbert, for the first time ever, stop and think about what exactly he was doing. Suddenly, it wasn't just about getting the kid into his bed and ravishing him – it was about making Matthew a permanent part of his life, gaining the kid's trust, and _then _luring the boy into bed.

He supposed that those two weeks had been a moment of weakness. But during those two weeks, he'd contemplated himself more than he had ever before. His thoughts had been occupied with his love, and it had taken to the very edge of his control not to answer the door when Matthew came knocking on Thursday night, curiously calling his name and, upon finding that Gilbert wasn't going to answer, heaving a sigh of both equal disappointment and frustration. Yes, it had taken shoving a pillow over his head, several blog updates, at least a dozen selfie pictures, three cups of espresso, and a call to Feliciano to complain about his romantic woes in order for Gilbert to feel stable enough that he wouldn't pick up the phone the next day and call in an order to the Pizza Plaza.

But while he had been holed up in his apartment, desperately trying to sort through his thoughts, Gilbert had come to one important realization: He would need a plan. Once he had a plan of action, he was sure it would be as simple as hook, line, and sinker. It would be amazingly easy. He already had the kid's attention and his worry, so Matthew's confession of love couldn't be very far off, could it?

Matthew had, after all, come to him, after all those months of the German man chasing after him. After months of brushing him off, whatever kind of control Matthew had had on himself finally broke. He was the one who had demanded Gilbert's number. He was the one who had kissed Gilbert this time. He was the one who, in his own way, had admitted that he cared about Gilbert's wellbeing. Finally, all his months of hard work was paying off. All the money he had sacrificed to see the love of his life was not all in naught. It would all be worth it soon enough, he was sure.

And now he was more determined than ever to get into Matthew's pants.

Or get Matthew out of his pants.

Either way, he didn't care, as long as the results were permanent or at least a consistent reoccurrence.

He had plenty of paperbacks, with front covers featuring Fabio, to assist him.

* * *

The sound of cackling laughter echoed within the small apartment.

Gilbert threw the paperback novel across the room, Fabio and his luscious mane of hair landing cover down in the corner of his bedroom, as he collapsed back on his pillow, a wild smirk spreading across his face. Beside him, he swung his hand out, knocking boxes of Chinese take-out off his nightstand, as he reached for his most recent diary while simultaneously grabbing the pen on the other end of his bed with one of his feet, bringing it closer to himself. Uncapping the pen and flipping to the first blank page in his diary, he began to frantically scribble down a detailed map of the Pizza Plaza and its surrounding area.

This plan was perfect! _He _was perfect! There was no possible way that this plan wouldn't work out in his favour. Not even Ludwig would have been able to find a flaw to it – it was that perfect.

As the old man in the apartment next to his smacked his cane against the wall in an attempt to shut him up, Gilbert only fell into another fit of laughter.

"Genius Gilbert strikes again…" he muttered as he jotted down the last of the steps.

It was flawless.

* * *

Matthew called his farewell to Mikkel and Lukas, the Pizza Plaza's one and only cook and his fellow pizza delivery boy respectively, prompting the Norwegian boy to pause in his scolding of Mikkel for a moment to wave at Matthew and wish him a good night. Mikkel turned back to look at the Canadian as he pushed the door open to leave, looking at him with desperate eyes, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Lukas must have been in the middle of one of his 'I'm going to insult every single wrong thing you've done since you were born' speeches, Matthew thought. Unfortunately for his Danish coworker, he was in no mood to step between them and distract Lukas into talking about something else while Mikkel snuck away.

He was still a little bit bitter from the last time Mikkel, Lukas, and Lukas' little brother Emil had spent the night at his place, where Mikkel had thought it an absolutely brilliant idea to tear apart his entire kitchen as well as drunkenly moon Matthew's mother when she had dropped by for an unexpected visit.

It had taken many, many hours of explanations as well as apologies for Matthew's mother to even _consider _allowing Mikkel inside her house for Christmas dinner that year.

It had been nearly an entire year since that incident, and he still wasn't over it.

Matthew blew his hair out of his eyes as the metal door clicked shut behind him, leaving the alley situated between the Plaza and the sub shop beside it shrouded in darkness. Really, he liked Mikkel and enjoyed his company for the most part, but he couldn't deny that he was deserving of nearly everything Lukas said to him. He had even joined in with Lukas and Emil once or twice to berate the Danish man – which was, admittedly, almost as much fun as lecturing Alfred. But that idiot had scarred his mother, so he deserved everything that was given to him, Matthew thought as he pulled his beanie tighter over his head, beginning his walk out of the alley and onto the main street in front of the Pizza Plaza…

…where he ran directly into a body.

A body that had a carefully planned trajectory and had been standing outside the Pizza Plaza for the last fifteen minutes to ensure that Matthew ran into it on its said trajectory.

Matthew grunted as he landed on the ground, appalled at how easy he was thrown off balance. He stuck his hands in the snow, seeking out the solid concrete, beginning to push himself up. "I'm sorry," he apologized automatically, wiping his hands on his jeans, ignoring the slight stinging of his skin.

"Oh!" a familiar voice exclaimed, and Matthew felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be… Not here, not now… "Imagine running into you here, just as I was leaving. This must be fate."

Gilbert was hoping that this would be the moment where Matthew would slowly look up in annoyance, yet would be pleasantly surprised to find that he had run into the attractive and mysterious older male he had only ever been able to admire from afar, but now here he was with the chance to get to know him better…

Trusting fictional tales could give you very high hopes about life…

High hopes that would be chewed up, spit out, recycled into a fashionable purse, only to be discarded in, say Times Square for example, and subsequently trampled on by millions of annoying tourists' feet.

Matthew would have told Gilbert exactly that if he had any clue what the man was thinking. He had spent a long time in the closet because of his own high hopes of reality.

He had been looking for Narnia. Really.

And unlike Gilbert had hoped, Matthew didn't look up while feeling vaguely annoyed. He had figured out it was Gilbert from the very first gasp of surprise that came from the man's mouth and had become, as a consequence, extremely irritated, the second the stupid hoser had opened his mouth. He was, however, still rather surprised to run into his _favourite _customer.

Not pleasantly surprised, however.

He batted away Gilbert's mittened hand, which was held out to help him up. He wrinkled his nose at said mittens, slowly shaking his head. "Mittens?" he questioned. Was he _trying _to look cute? Fucking hell. "Really?"

Gilbert grinned widely, not at all deterred by Matthew's latest form of blatant rejection. He had a plan, you see, and so far, it was going splendidly. Matthew hadn't up and walked away from yet, so that was good news. He hadn't really expected Matthew to leap into his arms at the sight of him, beg Gilbert to take him home, and then they would live happily ever in Gilbert's shitty apartment living off of pizza, take-out Chinese, and cereal with expired milk. No, he knew the boy better than that. And he knew that persistence was key – and that he probably wouldn't agree to living off the bare minimum of food anyway, because Matthew had higher standards than that, he was sure. "Yeah!" Gilbert exclaimed. "They match my scarf and hat, see?"

But not his age.

Matthew squinted, trying to blink the snow out of his eyes. He pushed his glasses higher up on his nose. "Don't you find it difficult to not have your fingers separated?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Oh, well, they're actually a mitten-fingerless-glove combination."

"Why not just gloves?"

Again, he shrugged. "Well, sometimes it's a nuisance having your fingertips covered in cloth – when eating a slice of pizza, for instance – but, then again, you don't want your fingertips exposed to the cold all the time, which fingerless gloves do. It's the best of both worlds, really." Gilbert watched as Matthew's eyebrow quirked, before a look of understanding dawned on his face and he nodded. Gilbert did a mental cheer. A day when Matthew agreed with him on something was a good day indeed.

"That actually, scarily, makes a lot of sense. Too bad mittens still make you look like a douche." And kind of cute… But it wasn't as though he was going to voice that aloud. He would never hear the end of it if he did. Matthew banished the thought from his mind as he clambered to his feet and brushed off his pants, momentarily forgetting to question why exactly Gilbert had oh so _conveniently _appeared in front of the Pizza Plaza just as Matthew was getting off work.

Especially when, only two days ago, Matthew had accosted Gilbert, ripped out at least a dozen hairs off his head, and then proceeded to ask the man for his number.

At least it was a better kiss than their first.

"Are you getting off work?"

"Ye–"

"What a coincidence!" Gilbert announced, effectively cutting off Matthew's words and making the Canadian shut his mouth with little more than an annoyed smack. "I was just picking up some carryout. Do you want to go back to your place and share a slice, on me?" Gilbert bent down to pick up the box that he had 'dropped' on the ground during his and Matthew's collision. He had wanted to be as convincing as possible, and if that meant having to drop his overpriced pizza and possibly ruin it, then that was exactly what he was going to do. "Oh shit, most of the cheese has slid off…" He shrugged – sacrifices always needed to be made for the best of things – and shifted the box to rest on his hip as his free arm wrapped around Matthew's shoulders. "Shall we?"

Matthew ducked under Gilbert's arm before it could settle on his shoulders. He grabbed said arm and pulled Gilbert into the alley he had previously vacated, hoping to the stars above that Lukas or Mikkel wouldn't think of the bright idea to go on break while he was speaking to Gilbert.

Something that sounded like surprise came from Gilbert's mouth. "Oh! Are we going to make out?"

"Shut up!" Matthew spat, dragging Gilbert deeper into the alley, past the door of the Pizza Plaza and hopefully past any chances of his coworkers being able to hear their conversation. "Look," he grit out through his teeth, occasionally throwing a backwards glance over his shoulder for any sign of Mikkel or Lukas. "My boss isn't the most understanding of people. He doesn't know that I swing that way and the last thing I need is him finding out, so could you try to tone down your campy–"

"Hey!" Gilbert exclaimed, indignant.

"–antics a bit?"

"I do not act campy!"

Matthew scoffed. "Yeah, well, asking another man out on a date does not typically tend to be regarded as heterosexual behavior."

Gilbert's eyes lit up. "So you do think of it as dating!"

"Do not put words in my mouth!"

"What about my–"

Matthew whirled around so fast Gilbert would have thought he got whiplash from the speed of it. He slapped a hand over Gilbert's mouth, a scowl drawing his lips downwards, blue eyes bright with irritation. "What did I _just _tell you?" he hissed, and then, remembering the very first thing that he should have asked Gilbert upon literally running into him, demanded, "Why are you even _here_?"

Gilbert replied, but it was muffled.

"Oh, and you just happened to be getting carryout right as my shift ends?"

Another muffled response.

"Oh, don't give me that 'fate' bullshit."

Gilbert's eyebrow rose.

"How do you even know when I get off work?"

"Mmm?" Gilbert was honestly quite surprised that Matthew was still ignorant (the Canadian himself would have chosen a kinder term, such as 'blissfully aware') of the fact that Gilbert _only _ordered pizza when Matthew worked and that some knowledge of his daily schedule was needed to accomplish this.

Matthew, on the other hand, was still seething over the fact that Lukas only had to deal with this creep twice a week. He found himself wondering if Lukas also got flirted with, or if Matthew really was Gilbert's exclusive, just as the German had reassured him countless times before. He would have thought that the Norwegian would have mentioned someone as creepy as Gilbert, but then again, Lukas was not known for being overly open with people. He denied that little pinprick of jealousy appeared at the very back of his mind at the thought, but pushed it away, deciding that he needed to focus on more important things instead. Such as, why the fuck did Gilbert know his work schedule? "Why the hell do you know when my shift ends?!" he demanded.

Gilbert had, once again, found himself back into a wall – well, a dumpster on this particular occasion, and it was technically a door last time, but both of them still counted as 'wall-like' objects – with an angry Canadian being the one who was cornering him. Matthew was much more aggressive than he would have guessed from his demeanor. And he wasn't sure if he liked that or not. Sure, he had been with dominant people before, but all of his fantasies thus far had involved him dominating Matthew. Now, the thought of aggressive Matthew brought in a whole new realm of possibilities…

(Battle to the Top:

Gilbert – 1, Matthew – 2.)

"Have you been following me?"

Gilbert shook his head.

Matthew chose to ignore that particular action. Instead, he said, "You're a real creep, you know, seriously. I can't believe this. I can't believe you. I can't believe that I started to think maybe you weren't such a horrible guy. Actually, I can't believe that I believe this. I _knew _you were a fucking psycho!"

'Says the one covering my mouth and forcing me back against a dumpster in a dark alley' Gilbert attempted to convey via his eyebrows.

"Like you even try to act like you're resisting! You're enjoying this, you freak," Matthew hissed, leaning closer. As he spoke, his breath ghosted across Gilbert's face, their noses mere millimetres away from each other. If Matthew's hand wasn't covering his mouth, all he would have to do was lean forward the slightest bit, and he would be able to capture the Canadian's mouth with his own. "You know, for much swagger you put on in front of everyone, you turn into a bottom rather quickly."

The next sound that came out of Gilbert's mouth was indeed just a groan. He was enjoying this quite a bit, actually. He wouldn't deny that. At least Matthew was touching him.

Matthew looked surprised at the gall of his own words, quickly pulling his face away from Gilbert's, though his hand hadn't moved yet. "Just leave me alone, alright?" he said, sounding decidedly more worn out than he had just a few moments ago. "I can't handle this anymore. You're driving me insane! You don't love me! I'm not going to sleep with someone who fucks around as much as you do. Plus, you're only going after me because I refuse to have sex with you–"

Gilbert tried his hardest not to nod. It would only give Matthew the wrong idea. But, he did remember reading about this before, in one book or another. The 'player' who only wants another notch on his belt meets the girl who refuses to give in to any of his advances. His interest is piqued. He dedicates time into getting the girl to fall for him and before he knows it, he's fallen for the girl. Now, he must convince her that he's serious…

Nah, that situation was completely unrelated.

"–and the second that happens, you'll get bored and I'll be left–"

Gilbert found himself perking up hopefully. Be left what?

Matthew blushed furiously.

A convoluted mess of emotions and an overwhelming sense of embarrassment managed, quite improbably, to make Matthew even more aware of his surroundings than he was before.

And that he was still smothering Gilbert's face.

"Just piss off," Matthew muttered before he turned to leave.

"Mattie, wait!" Gilbert called out, reaching forward to grab Matthew's scarf in the process.

Gilbert had hoped that this manoeuver would allow him to pull Matthew back towards him so he could kiss him, like in all the movies and the stupidly romantic books he had read so many of. Then he and Matthew would make out – romantically, of course, with feelings and all that garbage, minus the messy salvia and such – as the sun set on the background, illuminating their bodies and marking the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Well, as the pizza rotted and the drunken man at the end of the alley took a piss, at least.

Unfortunately, as it was, the alley was quickly turning into a potential murder scene.

Gilbert had thought that as smart as Matthew was, he would have better survival instincts than what he was exhibiting, but he just kept flailing his arms and leaning forward, choking himself in the process.

If Matthew died from asphyxiation, it was his own fault, and Gilbert refused to take the blame.

Matthew had never imagined the scarf Lukas had given him would be used for _this._

This was all Gilbert's fault! If the man hadn't disappeared for two weeks, Matthew wouldn't have been forced to go over to his apartment and kiss him. And if the man hadn't shown up at his workplace under the guise of grabbing carryout, he wouldn't have dragged him into an alley and he wouldn't be here, stubbornly refusing to turn around, inadvertently choking himself in the process.

"Let go!" he gasped.

Gilbert released an irritated sigh. "Will you stay put?"

"I'm not a dog!"

The German man tsked. "I never said you were a dog," he pointed out. "The only similarities you have with dogs are your eyes. Personality-wise, dogs are much more loving, friendly, and playful."

"…Eyes?"

"Well, they're blush in colour and wide and… eyeball shaped, you know? Like Huskies! You can't get much more similar than that."

"Fuck you."

"You can't fuck me if you're passed out."

"Go die."

"That's not very nice. Bad dog."

Matthew tried to scream in anger, but he was currently a little short of breath.

Gilbert decided that Matthew would most likely 'cut off his nose to spite his face.' He wasn't entirely sure what that saying meant. He had heard the expression used somewhere before, and it seemed rather appropriate given the circumstances.

And in said circumstances, Gilbert thought Matthew would rather suffocate himself before he gave in to what Gilbert wanted.

Which was extremely disheartening, to say the least.

Matthew stumbled forward a few steps as Gilbert released him, panting heavily.

"I could– call the– police…" he said in between breaths.

"And tell them you dragged a man into an alley, covered his mouth so he couldn't speak and then–"

"You're the one following me around!" he exclaimed.

"I haven't been following you anywhere!"

"How do you know my schedule, then?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I call in to the Plaza once and some goofy-sounding guy told me after I asked. I never thought it would be that easy."

Matthew narrowed his eyes in thought, mentally checking off each of the very few employees that worked at the Pizza Plaza. It obviously wasn't him, it couldn't be Lukas, his boss didn't answer the damn phone, and Lee wouldn't give up that information that easily… Wait. Goofy-sounding guy… Oh dear god. _Mikkel… _"That son of a _bitch_!" Matthew exclaimed. He was the reason Matthew had cursed his very existence for the past nine months. "I'm going to _kill _him!" And hell, he needed to tell Lukas. He would have all the information Matthew needed to make Mikkel's life a living hell. And he was sure Lukas would gladly offer his services, maybe even help him execute it…

Deep in thought of his plans to make Mikkel ever regret picking up the phone that day, Matthew barely heard Gilbert's reply. "Yeah, what an asshole," he agreed, before pausing for a moment. "Right, I'm sorry."

The Canadian dragged himself away from thoughts of the Danish man's imminent demise. "You know you basically just admitted to stalking me."

Gilbert shook his head. "No, I was making a concerted effort to get to know you better. I didn't try to figure out your name or your age or where you lived or your sexual preference or anything like that, really. I just described you to that idiot on the phone and he said, 'Oh, you're talking about Matt,' yadda yadda." As Matthew bristled, he added, "If it makes a difference, the first girl I talked to wouldn't tell me anything about the old man who worked as a pizza delivery boy. Then she passed me off to the idiot." He shrugged.

Oh, yes, the girl who had spent more time filing her nails than doing her job. She hadn't been around long. "She called me an old man?" Matthew asked. God, if she called _him _an old man, he hoped that Lukas and Mikkel were called the same.

Gilbert nodded.

"I'm only twenty-two!"

Another shrug. "Apparently that's old for a sixteen-year-old."

"Yeah, well, you'd be practically ancient, grandpa."

"You're the one beating up on a poor old grandpa," Gilbert pointed out.

"Says the one who was choking an old man with a scarf!" Matthew retaliated.

"Dog!"

"Bitch!"

"Puppy!"

"Whore!"

"Pussy!"

"Pussy-licker!"

Gilbert visibly pulled back. "Oh, gross, dude."

Matthew frowned. "Sorry. That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed as a smile quirked his lips upwards. "You play dirty."

Matthew was uncertain, once again, how their fighting managed to defuse into amused bickering. Typically, he was a grudge holder, but it was hard to keep a grudge against someone who isn't bothered by you begrudging them.

Also, that smile might have spiked Matthew's dopamine levels.

* * *

**A/N **;; So, this is what was left of chapter five. I decided not to put any other scenes that I had planned in this chapter, because first of all, this was long enough and I'm stiff from sitting in a shitty chair all day/night, and also because that seventh chapter kind of has its own feel that would disrupt the flow of this one. Granted, this chapter wasn't extra long like I promised it would be, but it is a whole 1500 words longer than chapter five, so that's good enough for now, right?

This chapter title isn't that great. But after sitting in front of my laptop for an hour and a half with a finished chapter and no title, I just decided to go with the next thing that popped into my head – which I had to do three different times, but I digress.

If it's any consolation, I'll be writing drunk!Canada next chapter. And some fluff.

Since I didn't exactly specify who 'Lee' is in the chapter, it's actually Hong Kong. Mikkel is Denmark. And Lukas and Emil are Norway and Iceland respectively.

**silvermangos: **Now that's dedication right there. As for the answer to your question, I estimate between 18 – 20 chapters and maybe an epilogue if my readers would like one. And I wish I could make a monster fic, but I don't know how long I could keep the crack and humour pumping. Thanks for your review, as always. ;)

Stay awesome, guys.


	7. Jägermeister Trumps All Logical Thoughts

**A/N **;; This is update number un in my two year anniversary update-as-many-stories-as-I-can-athon! I hope you guys enjoy this, because this story isn't going to be updated for at least three weeks after this. I'm taking some time off from writing this to catch up on some other stories, so be patient, okay?

Also, a question for my lovely readers! Would you guys be opposed to me making another pairing story in this same universe? I already have a GerIta one-shot that I might fit in here and, from there, I have a full-fledged story planned, all based on GerIta. I mentioned RomHun in this chapter, so maybe I could make a spinoff of that, too? God, I could even write something with the Nordics. All these characters have backstories that I haven't been able to explore very much, so while I would try to keep that cracky humour intact, these spinoffs (or, the GerIta one at least; the RomHun and Nordic ones would probably be a lot like this one) would be slightly more serious. It would kind of be like a series…? It has the potential, I think, but I'd like to get your guys' opinions?

Speaking of opinions, if you haven't already voted on my profile page poll, go do that. Honestly, thus far, I'm surprised at what kind of things you guys would prefer me to post…

Also… guys. Two reviews. That's all I need._ Two. Reviews. _And then I'll hit fifty… for the first time ever. Maybe I'll even reach one hundred alerts… You guys have no idea how much this means to me. Can I just say that I love all of you? I do, really. I want to tackle-hug all of you. You guys are all so kind and supportive, and your comments make me laugh all the time. You guys are the reason why I haven't already taken down this story and thrown it away. All my reviewers are the reason I've continued writing so long – I would have probably given up a long time ago if it weren't for the people supporting me here. You guys are all getting shoutouts at the end of the story.

Here's to another year of writing!

* * *

**Hardly a Love Story**

**…o…**

**Chapter Seven  
**_**Jägermeister Trumps All Logical Thoughts**_

**…o…**

* * *

"Hello," Matthew greeted tersely, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he walked past Gilbert, who was leaning against the wall at the entrance to the alley, arms impatiently crossed over his chest. He smiled widely as he caught sight of Matthew, but the Canadian didn't give him a second glance, nor did he bother getting worked up that Gilbert had shown up – yet again – as he was getting off work. At this point, he was used to it.

It had been going on for the last week.

Maybe someone else would realize and report him for loitering… if Matthew could be so lucky, perhaps one of his coworkers would notice the oddly-coloured man outside their workplace. Snow white hair and red eyes were kind of hard to miss… especially if they appeared in the exact same spot every day.

However, he had yet to tell Lukas and Emil about Gilbert – for the sole reason that he was only slightly worried that if the Norwegian found out, he would find a way to _accidentally _drop a brick onto Gilbert's head from the top of the Pizza Plaza.

"Oh, I was just going for a walk, fancy–"

Matthew held up a hand, frowning. "You really don't need to make an excuse," he said. "I'm not angry."

"You sound slightly miffed, though," Gilbert replied, uncrossing his arms. Instead, they found a place resting on either of his hips, his hands tucking into his pockets. He was wearing his mitten-fingerless-glove combo again, Matthew noted offhandedly. He really had to get himself a pair of those… the mittens he had bought during the 2010 Winter Games were too special to just wear anywhere. Somehow, he would have to casually ask the German man where he had bought them. "Then again, slightly miffed is like your neutral emotional state."

Matthew had a hard time admitting that this was probably true. Alfred and Mikkel had told him the same thing.

He shrugged. "I've resigned myself to this fate." Well, better late than never, he supposed.

Well, that and Mikkel had, quite seriously, recommended anger management classes for him after Matthew had called the apartment Lukas, Emil, and the Danish man all shared to complain about Gilbert. At the time, he hadn't cared who picked up the phone – all he had wanted was to rant to somebody about the giant pain in his ass who went by the name of Gilbert. Later, he would consider himself lucky that neither Emil nor Lukas had picked up the phone that night. The only thing Mikkel had gotten the chance to say was _"Hello?" _before Matthew began his rant.

After three hours of swearing, threatening, and just general complaining, Matthew had let himself pause to catch his breath. Mikkel had listened patiently throughout the entire ordeal, and any indignant replies he had concerning his own involvement were quickly silenced by Matthew's voice overpowering his own. He had brought the Danish man to tears about halfway through, when he had very specifically and in an awful lot of detail described to him exactly what he would like to do with Mikkel's body after he had wrung his neck in the most painful way possible. Matthew supposed he might have a talent with that, what with being able to bring "the hero" down to a sobbing mess and being able to achieve around the same result with the Dane.

But, after Mikkel's crying had stopped and Matthew had finally let his heart rate settle back into a normal level, the Dane had calmly informed the Canadian that he had been thinking of signing Lukas up for anger management classes, and maybe Matthew should attend with him. That, in turn, set Matthew off again in another speech about how Mikkel really didn't _understand _what kind of hell Matthew had been through in the last nine months, and had ended with the threat of Matthew starting another one-on-one hockey game between them.

Thankfully, even in his anger, Matthew had been clever enough not to mention Gilbert's name at all during the entire process of the rant. Sure, Mikkel had offered to help Matthew _take care_ of his most annoying customer, but the oaf wasn't capable of doing anything other than imagining what he could do without a name or face.

That had been a week ago, and so far, Matthew hadn't heard anything about it from Lukas or Mikkel. He had no doubt that Mikkel told his Norwegian roommate about the entire thing, but he couldn't help but be suspicious that Lukas hadn't questioned him about it. When it came to him, Lukas was nosy.

Well, nosy in all matters except Mikkel. Usually, the Norwegian demanded more information whenever he found that Matthew had a problem, interrogating him until the Canadian spilled. However, when Matthew had called Lukas after his first encounter with Gilbert in the alley, all he'd had to say was "_Mikkel did–" _before he had been cut off and given a quick assurance that Lukas would be at his apartment soon.

Twenty minutes later, he had opened the door to find Lukas standing in front of him, bundled in a thick winter coat with a spiral bound notebook tucked under his arm, staring at him expectantly. Before he even had a chance to offer to take Lukas' coat, he had been dragged towards his bedroom by his wrist, told to sit on his bed, and asked to give a one to ten rating of the severity of Mikkel's latest bout of stupidity. With a rating of ten, a smirking Lukas had flipped to the very end of his notebook, and thus, the first step to Matthew's plan of revenge was formed.

"So, I _can _fuck you?"

Gilbert's hopeful inquiry dragged Matthew out of his thoughts, and as soon as the words registered in his mind, the Canadian could feel himself scowling. "Not that fate!" he exclaimed, pleased that he had even been able to remember what exactly they had been talking about in the first place.

Gilbert's smirk matched the volume of Matthew's scowl. "Right, there was no harm in checking." He shrugged languidly, his smirking widening slightly – if that was even possible at all. "You know, one day you might wake up and realize 'Hey, I'd really like to bone Gilbert. Unfortunately, he's stopped asking if I want to fuck, and I'm too shy to ask him instead.'"

"I'm not shy," Matthew protested, not bothering to come up with a counter argument for the rest of Gilbert's statement. It was implied.

Gilbert stared at him flatly, clearly unimpressed, and Matthew shrugged. "Alright, maybe a little," he conceded.

The German shook his head, disbelieving. "You're so shy you border on anti-social," he informed his pizza delivery boy curtly. "People give you a wide berth in the street. It's the pouting – people think you're always pissed off, and no one likes a Debbie Downer."

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "Say Debbie Downer again– and how do you know that?" It was more like people bumped into him more on the street than they tended to avoid him. He wasn't invisible or completely unnoticeable, but he didn't exactly carry himself confidently either, like Gilbert or Alfred did. It was an okay system, he thought. It wasn't as though he had ever gotten hurt because someone didn't see him. "Maybe it's you they're giving a wide berth."

Matthew wouldn't be surprised if that was the exact opposite case. Outwardly, Gilbert had an air of confidence. He had his moments of humour, even if they weren't exactly always appropriate, and he was certainly attractive enough to warrant attention. Pigmentless skin and red eyes wasn't an everyday sight, and even if the eyes were a little bit intimidating, it was easy enough to get over. People would be naturally attracted to him, even with an ego the size of Jupiter and his crude jokes. If Matthew was an introvert, then Gilbert was an extrovert. If Gilbert was able to work the room, Matthew was a wallflower. They were opposites in nearly every way, and contrary to the age-old saying that opposites attract, not every instance of that worked out.

This was a case where they wouldn't work, Matthew was still trying to convince himself.

"No way!" Gilbert replied, just as the Canadian had expected he would. "I'm like a Labrador, while you're like a Pit-bull."

Matthew looked at him flatly. "Getting real tired of your shit…"

"No, no! Listen!" the German man exclaimed, his arm catching Matthew's shoulder as the younger man prepared to leave. "People often think Pit-bulls are mean and vicious little buggers. But they're really sweet if they have the right owner!" he explained.

Gilbert would gladly adopt Matthew.

The Canadian shook his head, freeing his shoulder from Gilbert's grip. "I'm getting to get sick of all your canine comparisons."

"You don't like dogs much, do you?"

Matthew shrugged. "I'm more of a cat person."

Gilbert gasped dramatically, his hand flying up to cover his mouth as his eyes widened in horror. "Oh no!" he exclaimed, reaching out to grab Matthew once again as he began to head towards his car. Instead of pulling Matthew back towards him, he followed after him, only holding him close as they stopped beside the piece of shit car that Matthew apparently called his vehicle. He wrapped his arms around Matthew's waist, limiting his ability to move and forcing their bodies against each other. "We're supposed to be mortal enemies! We're starcrossed lovers! They'll never allow it…" he angled his head down so that his breath brushed against Matthew's ear. "Run away with me, my dear?"

Matthew began to struggle against Gilbert's hold, feeling himself unintentionally shiver as Gilbert's lips brushed against the top of his ear. _Fucking hell_, that did not feel good. He was incredibly uncomfortable. The reason for the butterflies he felt was not because he was so damn close to Gilbert, but because he was simply disgusted with having to touch him so intimately. There was no space between them. "No!" he exclaimed. "We're not fucking lovers! Let me go, you freak!"

He was surprised that no one had come out to help him at this point. He could hear himself yelling, and he was pretty sure that he was being loud enough to warrant some kind of attention. Placing his hands against Gilbert's chest, he pressed, leaning back as hard as he could. With little more than a smirk of warning, he slammed the heel of his foot against Gilbert's sneaker, prompting the man to slacken his grip just enough that Matthew was able to pull away, dashing to the other side of his car and getting inside it as fast as he could. He slammed his hand down on the locking system, feeling the slightest bit of comfort as he heard every lock activate simultaneously.

Now, what he should have been able to do was jam the keys in the ignition and speed away into the distance. In reality, as he jammed his hands in his pockets, searching for his keys, he realized, with a belated sense of horror, that he didn't have them. He made the mistake of looking towards the passenger side of the vehicle where, in the window, Gilbert was giving one of the best impressions of a begging puppy he had ever seen. However, that was not the thing that caught Matthew's attention. It was, instead, the fact that he could see his car keys gripped in Gilbert's hand.

When had he…?

Oh god, that fucking hug.

"_YOU BASTARD!"_ Matthew exclaimed, hitting his hand against the steering wheel. No, no, no, no! Fuck! "Give me back my keys!" he demanded, rolling down the window just so. It was enough space that Gilbert could slip the keys through the hole, but not enough that he could get his entire hand through. Gilbert pointed dumbly at the keys, and Matthew felt himself nodding furiously. God, this was so fucking stupid. He didn't want to play this game. "Yes! My keys! Give them to me!"

Gilbert smirked, holding them away. "Let me come over."

"You aren't coming back to my place!" Matthew replied quickly. Like hell he was allowing that to happen.

The German cocked his head. If he was trying to look cute, the wide smirk he was wearing kind of defeated the purpose. "Please? You've been over to mine countless times before."

"I was delivering pizzas!"

He shrugged. "Please?" Gilbert asked again. "I won't make any passes at you for the rest of the evening. I swear." He raised the hand holding Matthew's car keys in oath as the other went behind his back so he could cross his fingers.

Matthew's eyes turned away from his crazy ass customer for a second. The chances of him actually being able to get out of this situation without ending up with Gilbert were very low indeed. He knew he could call the police, but really, this wasn't something that he couldn't handle himself. Gilbert was just being Gilbert – and while his way of requesting if he could visit Matthew's apartment was creepy and could be easily taken out of context, it was still just the man being himself. It wasn't likely that he would have let the German anywhere near his apartment if he had simply asked, anyway. This way, both of them would technically get what they wanted – Matthew would be reunited with his precious car keys, and Gilbert would be able to spend more time with his precious Matthew.

Ha, he had figured out the game.

Take that, Gilbert.

Not so clever now, are you?

And now that he had figured out exactly what type of game he was playing, he wasn't going to give up so easily. "My apartment is a shithole," he said. He knew it wasn't going to deter the man, but it was best to put up some sort of fight. It was inevitable that he was going to lose, considering Gilbert held something so important while the only thing he had to offer was his own company.

Gilbert shrugged again. "I don't mind."

"The heater is broken."

"I'm already dressed for the weather…" he replied. He jingled the keys hanging off his thumb, watching as Matthew's eyes snapped back towards them, narrowing in thought. "See, I could have said 'I know a way we could warm ourselves up,' but I didn't, as promised."

"Saying it aloud a second later kind of defeats the purpose…"

"It's the thought that counts," Gilbert said quickly. "Aaaaanyway, do you want to come over to my place, then? I have a functioning heater. And free alcohol," he offered. Again, he pulled the puppy dog eyes, pleading with Matthew to go along with his idea. It was fucking cold out, and he knew Matthew had a heater inside that car. If only he could get inside it…

"I thought we already established that I'm a cat person," Matthew said, looking away from Gilbert's eyes. Puppy dog eyes didn't work on him anymore, but it was still best not to stare into them for too long. If not for his own health, then his sanity.

"Oh, so should I purr and rub up against you instead?" Gilbert suggested and, seeing as Matthew still wasn't budging, said, "Remember the beer. I have free beer."

Ignoring the blush that sprung to his cheeks at the thought of Gilbert nuzzling against his neck, Matthew focused on the offer of beer. Alcohol broke the best of them, he supposed. And free beer was incredibly hard to come by. That's it. If it was good beer, he gave up. He was a man, and even if the attractive male that he was trying to avoid had been propositioning him for sex for the last nine months and had just been a general creep for the entire length of their association with each other, the sleazeball was still offering him free alcohol. He was also kind of curious to see what Gilbert would be like when he was drunk… "What kind?" he asked, damning his own curiosity.

"Only the best, of course – Jägermeister."

Matthew paused for a moment.

"Alright," he said finally, flicking the lock button.

"Really?!" Gilbert grinned widely, hopping into the car before Matthew could get in another word.

Matthew found himself shaking as his head as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Gilbert definitely resembled a Labrador.

Only Gilbert was much, much cuter than a slobbery dog, Matthew thought.

And he would rather damn himself than admit that aloud to the man.

* * *

"Ah! They left! Commander Awesome to Pink Rabbit and Penis Museum! Quickly, commence Operation Valhalla! The subject has left the lot! I repeat: the subject has left the lot!"

"…This is stupid."

"_You're _stupid– _ow! _What the hell, Pink Rabbit?"

"…We're right beside you, idiot."

"Buuuut– Oh shit! Hurry! They're getting away! Penis Museum, the binoculars–!"

"_No."_

"Alright! Okay, on my count – one, two…"

* * *

"I'm not going to attack you, you know."

"I do know."

Actually, Matthew was not entirely sure of that. Gilbert had accosted him before, after all, and Matthew had even reciprocated the… favour?

Standing inside his apartment while Matthew stayed stubbornly in the doorway, Gilbert looked his pizza delivery boy up and down, appraising and thinking. What would it take to convince the boy to enter his domain again? He was probably still pissed off from Gilbert stealing his keys – which he supposed had been a daring move, as it could have potentially made Matthew lose any trust and respect for him that he had been able to acquire over the past few months. But, in his own defense, he was all about taking risks, and Matthew had played along very well. And now they were in his building, staring at each other, while the Canadian refused to take one step closer to him.

"I think after almost a year, you can safely assume that I'm not a murderer."

From the short but telling distance between them, Matthew's gaze locked with Gilbert's. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so hesitant – just as Gilbert had said, he didn't think the man was a psychopath… or at least not in the psychopathic serial killer sense. Sure, Gilbert was crazy, but not crazy enough that Matthew was worried for his own life. And Gilbert's insanity aside, he still didn't know why he couldn't just will himself to cross the threshold between the hallway and Gilbert's apartment. He had entered it before – many times before, in fact – and had even been given a brief tour. It wasn't as though he wasn't familiar with it…

"You never know. Even accountants can turn out to be serial killers."

"I'm the one who told you that."

"Yeah, and it was good advice."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest. He wasn't exactly sure what Matthew was thinking about, but he could see the wheels turning in the younger man's head. He hoped that he was the one who was occupying Matthew's thoughts, and maybe he hoped that Matthew's thoughts were less than innocent, but the Canadian's expression gave away nothing. He could have been thinking about the sandwich he'd had earlier in the day for all Gilbert knew.

Matthew, contrary to Gilbert's hopes, was not in fact thinking about anything concerning him and Gilbert in not-so innocent positions. No, he was making a pros and cons list – a list based around the rather simple question of whether or not he should enter Gilbert's apartment. It was a habit he had developed when he was young to solve his indecisiveness, and it had served him well throughout his entire life. He knew it wouldn't fail him now.

From down the hallway, Gilbert spied a camera flashing out of the corner of his eye, interrupting his and Matthew's staring contest. The Canadian must have seen it as well, as his head snapped to the right, an odd blend of shock and confusion on his face before his eyes narrowed at the woman down the hall. Sticking out of the last door of the hallway was a head belonging to one Elizabeta Héverdáry, a wild grin on her face and a camera held up to her eyes.

"No, no!" she scolded, her voice echoing in the hallway. "You guys were doing so good! Look at each other!" Her fist clenched determinedly. "_Feel _the tension! _Be _the tension!"

Before Gilbert could open his mouth to tell his neighbour to fuck off and that she was ruining any chance he might have at getting laid, a second head of hair appeared behind Elizabeta, this one blond and looking significantly more pissed off than the Hungarian woman was. Before Elizabeta had a chance to snap another picture, Vladimir had grabbed the arm of his pseudo girlfriend/pseudo roommate/pseudo mortal enemy and began to drag her back inside, ignoring her protests of "But–! I never get to… The pictures…!" and slamming the door behind him with a ring of finality.

Matthew slowly turned his head back towards Gilbert. "You… have strange neighbours," he commented softly.

Gilbert sighed. "Just come inside already, before she comes out again."

During the course of their staring contest, Matthew had, thankfully, came to a decision of what he had to do. He wasn't sure what was special about this particular visit, but he felt that he needed to have some level of alcohol before he entered Gilbert's domain. Perhaps it was because it was the first time he had ever come to Gilbert's apartment without a pizza, and the first time that Gilbert had convinced him to come there instead of Matthew simply showing up after work with a pizza they were sharing that night in his hand. Or maybe it was because he was scared without the cover of delivering pizza, and therefore needed some form of liquid courage. "Give me a beer, and I might think about it."

"You're so stubborn…"

Matthew simply sat down in the doorway of Gilbert's apartment. "Beer," he said.

The German scoffed. "You are the biggest moocher I've ever seen."

"It's an art."

"Yeah, you're a real piece of work."

Gilbert was silent.

Matthew let out a low breath through his nose.

"That was…" he started.

"Cheesy?" Gilbert offered.

The Canadian nodded, the words taken right out of his mouth. "Cheesy, yes. Extremely."

"Cheesy can be good, though, right?"

"Says the man who orders pizza every night."

"Not _every _night."

* * *

"You've been acting different lately," Matthew mumbled, sipping at his third glass of Jägermeister, resting his head against the doorframe of Gilbert's apartment. He hadn't moved since sitting down, and since he wasn't planning on doing so any time soon, Gilbert had resigned to sitting inside the apartment on the wall opposite of Matthew.

"So have you," Gilbert replied, reaching towards the bottle and pouring himself a fourth glass.

Matthew squinted thoughtfully. "You keep insulting me, and you've been less pervy than usual."

Gilbert dismissed Matthew's words with a slight wave of his hand, being careful not to spill any of his drink. "You're imagining things," he insisted.

"Nah… No, I'm not."

"It's called affectionate teasing," Gilbert said. "A sure sign of love. Like pulling the pigtails of the girl in front of you in class…" He trailed off, looking at Matthew over the rim of his glass. The boy was staring at him, and since he had his attention, he thought he might as well continue his train of thought. "You've been less angry recently."

"Maybe because you're not trying to get in to my pants so much." He was wrong on that point. Gilbert's entire goal was to get into Matthew's pants and stay there. He would have a season's pass. Or perhaps he would have an ID that allowed him automatic unzipping. Or maybe a VIP card that said only he was allowed to touch that body. "Did you pull a lot of pigtails back in the day?"

"I still want in your pants," Gilbert replied, and he ignored the frown that crossed Matthew's face. Perhaps he should have let the boy continue fooling himself into thinking he had Gilbert had stopped pursing his goal as strongly as he had for almost the last year. Then again, that would be like holding a secret, and he wanted to be as open with Matthew as possible. That's how he would gain the kid's trust. "I preferred sticking gum in the hair. I did it to Liz in the second grade – that was the woman we saw earlier. She gave me a swirly later. I thought that meant she returned my feelings."

"I'm pretty sure my pants are too small for you…" he muttered. "You were interested in girls for a while, huh?"

Gilbert shook his head, taking another sip of his drink. "That doesn't make any sense. I don't want to wear your pants. I want them stripped off of you, or my hand shoved down them, or whatever…" Cue another sip of his drink. "And I thought Liz was a boy back then – she's never really been a girl to me. Now she's just my best friend and the creepy neighbour down the hall. But I guess I was just confused or something." At Matthew's curious look, he laughed. "Yeah. Hard to believe, yeah? The Awesome Me. Confused. Ha!"

Matthew squinted out of one eye at Gilbert, who had been sitting cross-legged against the wall near the door, but had been inching his way closer to Matthew for the past hour. He had been rather conspicuously. Matthew had begun to notice after the third time Gilbert's scooted in his direction, but he couldn't find it within himself to call the German out on it.

He had never really thought Gilbert would be the type to be in the closet, let alone confused.

"You really are a strange one," he mused aloud.

Gilbert raised his glass in a toast, winking at Matthew, who could feel the heat gathering in his face… or maybe that was just the alcohol.

It was partially the alcohol, but not entirely.

"Would you come inside now?" Gilbert asked. "You're letting all the hot air into the hallway. I don't want to heat the entire building."

Matthew's gaze flicked to the floor for a moment, then to his glass, considering. "Fine," he relented, scooting forward on his backside before reaching up to close the door behind him. He tossed his gloves, beanie, and scarf on top of the pile of winter gear Gilbert had shed by the door earlier. "What time is it?"

The German man shrugged. "Does it matter? You don't work at all tomorrow."

"True…" Matthew replied. "That's still creepy, you know."

"Sorry."

He wasn't.

"And I couldn't stay here, anyways."

"Well, whenever you sober up, you can drive back to your place."

"True enough. Pass me the bottle."

* * *

"Can't hold your alcohol very well, can you?" Gilbert mumbled somewhere in the vicinity of Matthew's feet.

Matthew's head wobbled unstably, the only thing keeping his brains from sloshing around uncontrollably being the poufy coat that was cushioning his head.

Matthew stuck out a foot to locate Gilbert, as his glasses had dropped somewhere, therefore making his eyes unavailable to use correctly.

His toes struck tangled hair. Ah. There he was.

"Mhm. Definitely can't hold your liquor," Gilbert mumbled, arching his head back a bit further.

Matthew moved his foot about, curious. Whatever he was touching certainly felt like it could be Gilbert's hair, but the question still stood: Was the man attached to it? "Are you bald?" he asked, raising a hand to muffle his giggles.

Gilbert closed his eyes. "You a lightweight?"

"Nooooope," Matthew drew the word out. He was more occupied with searching whether Gilbert's body was also present under the mess of hair he had found.

"Never mind– agh! Get your fucking foot out of my face! You almost poked my eye out!"

Matthew laughed. "Oh, I was so close." He buried his face in Gilbert's coat, inhaling deeply. It smelled faintly of the cologne Gilbert always wore, and Matthew found himself appreciating its scent far more than he would have if he were sober. He had forgotten why exactly he had been searching for Gilbert, but he felt relieved regardless that the man wasn't bald. Matthew wasn't sure if Gilbert would look nearly as attractive as he did without his messy white hair. His head was probably shaped oddly, anyway, and that would only add to his degree of unattractiveness. He should be thankful that he even had hair to begin with. "You're an egg head."

"What?" he asked, confused. "Oh, keep your face sideways. Don't fucking suffocate."

As Matthew only hummed in response, Gilbert groaned as he rolled over on his hands and knees, crawling up to Matthew's head. The kid couldn't die on the floor in front of his door. He wouldn't allow it. After all, he hadn't even gotten the kid into his bed yet. It would be such a waste.

But for tonight, there was no possible way in hell that he was carrying Matthew to his bed, let alone the couch. They would probably both end up with gaping head wounds from the coffee table if he even attempted it.

"Comfy?" Gilbert asked, smiling sloppily. Matthew was practically submerged in his coat, and it was fucking adorable. This was one of those times where he wished he had the strength to stand up and get his camera. It only made him hope that he would be able to remember all that happened the next morning – that way he could have this picture to accompany him to work the next day. He pushed on Matthew's shoulder, and the Canadian rolled over onto his back. Gilbert let out a little sigh. "No, you'll suffocate that way."

"I'm not that drunk…"

Gilbert leaned over Matthew to grab the shoulder he had just shoved. "Then stop acting like a fucking log and stay on your side."

Gilbert had as firm as a grasp on Matthew's shoulder as he could have in his inebriated state. However, his movements halted the very moment he realized that Matthew's face was beneath his own.

He could lick Matthew's nose, if he so chose to, he realized. All he would have to do is open his mouth and let gravity take its course. There was less than an inch between their faces.

"…Gilbert?"

The German man could feel his cheeks warming, and it was definitely not from the alcohol. Matthew had said his names – without a mocking smile, without a frown, without a glare… He had said it with a honest, wide, and _amused _smile. He was _happy _– the Canadian was pleased that he was so close to Gilbert, and that they were together. For the first time ever, Matthew looked completely at ease with him.

"Yeah?" He could hear his heart beating in his throat.

The kid giggled. "I can see up your nose."

Matthew fell into a fit of laughter, and Gilbert frowned. It was quite the reverse situation, actually.

He groaned and grabbed the other articles of clothing littering the floor, making himself a pillow of his own. He flopped down next to Matthew, reaching across the younger man's body in order to grab his arm and pull the kid towards him. He kept his hand on Matthew's upper arm so that he wouldn't roll over and die from asphyxiation.

Damn, he had a better chance at fucking the kid when Matthew was sober…

Matthew peered up at him, a small smile quirking his lips upwards. "I guess… I could be friends with you…" he paused as he took in a breath, nuzzling his head against Gilbert's chest. "I like you…"

Then again, Matthew was not nearly as affectionate when he was sober.

* * *

**A/N **;; Over six-thousand words and fourteen pages… This is the longest chapter yet! Oh yes, this should tide you guys over for a while…

Also, guys, I'd just like to make it known amongst my readers that Iceland does in fact have a penis museum. I thought it was just a joke, but… but it really does exist, with… 280 penises thus far. They're probably adding more each year.

I'll admit that I laughed far harder than I should have at this. I find this incredibly hilarious – not because of the guy's hobby, but for the fact that this even _exists _in the first place. I respect this guy, actually. But what really put me over the edge is that a pair of Canadian guys made a documentary on the owner's quest in getting a proper human penis, and the title is _The Final Member_, and I just— I can't…

Look at some of these quotes, and tell me that you did not even laugh a little:

"—_always get a better, newer one… a bigger size or better shape, you know?"  
_A tourist from New Zealand said, _"I've never seen so many penises – and I went to boarding school!"  
_Another guest asked, _"Is there a vagina museum?" _and in response, the owner of the museum said, _"I'm only collecting the male organ. Somebody else has to do the other job. I'd be interested in how they would preserve it. I think vaginas are better alive." _

Stay awesome, guys.

(I would tell you guys to take care of your dicks, because they might end up in that museum one day, but I don't think I have any male readers…)


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